Valor: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Stone, Measha

  “You acted like you were going to.”

  I let her chin go.

  “You punched me,” she said and touched her jaw.

  “We needed to go, and you were causing trouble.” I pulled her hand from her face and held it to my chest. “Going after you—that was a gut call. But I don’t regret it.”

  She pushed a smile to her lips. “Is it really fucked up that I don’t, either?”

  I brushed her hair from her eyes. “No. There isn’t a fucked-up thing about you.”

  I got up from my chair, cradling her in my arms, and took us to the bed. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. You need sleep.” I laid her on the bed and untucked the covers for her to climb under.

  “Come to bed with me, Dustan.” She yawned.

  “I’m just going to turn out the lights first.”

  I checked the door, took another look out at the parking lot, and flipped off the lights in the bathroom. By the time I made my rounds of the five hundred square feet and made it back to the bed, she’d slipped into sleep.

  I watched her sleeping, her soft sweetness. Someone like me didn’t get to keep gifts like her. I knew it, but I wasn’t letting it stop me from climbing beneath the covers and pulling her body against mine.

  Where she belonged.

  Right or not.

  She belonged to me.

  Cherise

  The clothes Dustan had gotten for me while we were in New Orleans didn’t include a wide variety of underwear. I grabbed the last pair in the bag and pulled them over my ass. All lace. I looked at myself in the mirror, judging the extra padding with a frown. I poked at my cheeks and sighed. I had much bigger problems coming my way, so worrying over the extra five pounds of ass felt like a guilty pleasure.

  I finished dressing and shoved my feet into my shoes. Checking the clock radio on the nightstand, I figured I had another ten minutes before Dustan returned from the donut shop across the street. I’d said I wasn’t hungry, but he only glared at me, pinched my hip, and told me to stay put while he grabbed donut holes and coffee.

  He was probably just trying to get my mind off what was barreling down at us in a few hours, but he had to know donut holes weren’t going to work. Feeling the gun staring at me, I picked it up off the dresser. It was heavy in my hand. The weight of my decision added weight to it, I was sure.

  I had no doubt my uncle deserved whatever happened to him when we got to the farm; that wasn’t even a question. He’d killed my family. But then I remembered how I’d frozen when Dustan told me to kill the deer. I could justify that the deer was innocent and didn’t deserve to die, even if we were going to give it to a family for their meat locker. But in my heart, I knew what it was. The moral dilemma of taking a life twisted my gut.

  A booming knock jolted me from my considerations, and I huffed a laugh at myself. I was getting myself all worked up. Donuts were waiting for me. I shoved the gun into my bag.

  “Hands too full to open the door?” I called as I made my way. “How many donuts did you buy?” I jerked the door open.

  My heart took a nosedive.

  “Sorry, Cherise, no donuts.” Uncle Randy sneered at me.

  “Uncle Randy. Uh, what are you doing here?” I asked, trying to see around his bulky form. Dustan had to be back any second.

  “That was my question for you. Since I made it pretty damn clear not to come back.” Another man wearing jeans and a black hoodie stepped behind my uncle, looking from one side of the hall to the other.

  I stared, slack-jawed. The same tremor of fear trickled through my body as when I was younger. He hadn’t changed in the last years. The same slimy sneer perched on the same fat lips. His suit jacket swung open around his belly where the buttons on his shirt were holding firm but losing resolve.

  “I think it’s best you come home with me, Cherise.” He reached a hand toward me. I stepped back on instinct. He sighed and ran his tongue over the front of his top teeth.

  “Don’t cause a scene,” he snapped at me. “I’d rather not have to drag you to the car, but I will.” And by I he obviously meant the thug hanging out behind him. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but if he worked for my uncle, he wasn’t going to be on my side.

  “Okay. Let me grab my bag.” I stepped back another step, hoping he’d follow me inside. If I could keep him in the room, lock his friend outside, Dustan would be back.

  Uncle Randy pushed the door open and stayed in the doorway. His figure blocked out the sunlight.

  “We need to go.” He waved his hand at me. There was a time limit. He had to know Dustan would be back soon.

  “I just need to grab my stuff. I think I left my brush in the—”

  “Now, Cherise! No fucking around.” His patience thinned. I stilled for a moment, grabbing my bag from the dresser and slinging the strap over my shoulder, hugging it to my chest.

  “Okay, okay.” I nodded, not raising my eyes to meet his. The little girl inside kicked me, knocking my heart into an erratic beat and pushing the air from my lungs, making it harder to keep a level head.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed my arm as soon as I stepped within touching range and pulled me out of the room. His goon turned away when I tried to get a look at his face.

  Uncle Randy didn’t give any more instructions as he pulled me down the stairs and to his car. Another man, a driver, was waiting for us. The hooded helper opened the back door, and my uncle shoved me inside. I crawled to the opposite side of the car, searching through the window for Dustan.

  The car jerked into motion, and tears flooded my eyes. I had to get away. I grabbed for the door handle, but the click of the hammer being pulled back on my uncle’s pistol froze my hand.

  “Just sit nice,” he said.

  I turned away from the door and looked down at his lap where he held his gun pointed at me. My mouth dried, stopping any words that were forming in my mind. I nodded numbly and sat in the seat, holding my bag to my chest.

  The driver flipped on the radio to a country station, and, other than the music, there were no sounds on the ride to my family home. Where I’d grown up and my parents had died.

  My uncle had put a gate up at the border of the land. A white iron gate that needed to be unlocked for entry. The driver punched in the code on the little box, and the gates swung open. As the car made its way up the drive, the house came into view.

  The fire that killed my parents had destroyed half the house, but my uncle had repaired it. It didn’t look different in any way. The same baby-blue coloring, dark-brown window shutters, and the white porch that wrapped around the entire house. Everything was exactly as I remembered it as a child.

  After the fire, when I came home for the funerals, the house had been so badly damaged I’d had to stay in a hotel in town. Which suited me fine at the time, as being anywhere near the house made my heart ache for my parents. Now, seeing it as an adult, my stomach twisted for different reasons.

  Hate and anger.

  “C’mon.” Uncle Randy grabbed my arm and pulled me out his side of the car once it was parked. I climbed out and yanked myself out of his grip, raising my chin in defiance. I wasn’t a little girl anymore. He wouldn’t overpower me with fear this time.

  He stared down at me for a long moment, analyzing me, and laughed. “We’ll see how long that bravery lasts.” He gave me a shove toward the house, and I made my way up the porch steps and through the front door.

  I walked down the hallway to the kitchen where two men sat at the table. The room hadn’t been touched by the flames, but the smoke had damaged it enough for it to be redone. The soft-yellow paint my mother had loved so much had been changed to white. Simple and cold, much like my uncle.

  Standing in the kitchen, all traces of my mother and father having been swept away with the greed of my uncle, I found myself standing taller, stronger. I wasn’t the little girl he still thought I was. I wasn’t going to let him get away with all that he’d done. This was my house. This was my land, and I was go
ing to take it back, and he was going to pay for what he did.

  “This her?” the man with a white scar running down his left cheek from eyelid to chin asked from the table. He wore a thick gold watch on his left wrist that matched the braided rope of necklace around his neck. He pointed a finger at me but kept his gaze on my uncle.

  “My niece, Cherise.” Randy nudged me.

  I raised my chin and stared down scarface. His lips twisted up into a sneer, sending a dirty trickle down my spine.

  “She’s cute.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “She’ll sign everything over—”

  “No, I won’t.” I cut him off. “I’m not signing anything.”

  Uncle Randy’s face contorted. First surprise then raw anger built. His lip trembled, but I didn’t have any false thinking that he was about to cry.

  “You’ll do what you’re told, Cherise.” He waved his sausage finger at me again. I never noticed how little like my father he actually looked. My father was fit and handsome, with thick black hair and masculine features. Uncle Randy had always been heavier than him, but now he bulged in every direction, and the fat of his face washed out the little resemblance there was. He’d lost half his hair since last I’d seen him. Regardless of the piss-poor comb-over, I could tell how little hair he actually had.

  “This is my farm. This is my house, and I’m not signing anything over to you.” I moved my gaze to settle directly in his line of sight. Scarface chuckled, but his partner, a similar-looking man with less stubble on his chin, did not.

  “You own nothing. You’ll do what you’re told or—”

  “Or what? You’ll set me on fire, too?” I said, keeping my voice firm. It didn’t matter how much my insides shook; I would not let him see my fear.

  “I think you’ve said enough for the time being. You obviously need some time to think things through reasonably.” Uncle Randy grabbed my arm, and, by his bulk alone, overpowered me, dragging me to the pantry in the far corner of the room.

  My eyes set on the door, and panic ruled my actions. I pulled and smacked at him, but my fear had risen. He opened the pantry door and shoved me inside. I lunged for the opening, but the door slammed in my face, and I heard a bolt being thrown.

  Why? Why would he have a lock on the pantry? When I was younger, he would wedge something on the other side to keep the door from opening. My parents didn’t have a lock. But there was one now.

  He’d known I would come back.

  And he was prepared.

  I pressed myself to the back shelves, knocking a can of vegetables to the floor with my elbow. Pulling the gun out of the bag, I held it in my hand, letting the weight of it push my fear away.

  Dustan may not get to me in time. I had to deal with this on my own. I had to shove the childhood fears aside and stand on my feet now. I took slow breaths, focusing my attention on the feel of the gun in my hand. I had control. I had power. My uncle would not win this.

  Uncle Randy may have been prepared for my abduction, but I was more prepared for my release.

  I pulled slid back the rack on the gun, ready for him to open the door. I wouldn’t hesitate this time.

  Dustan

  He had Cherise. I had known it the moment I opened the door to the room and she wasn’t sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me. A quick sweep of the room, I had realized she’d taken her bag—and the gun.

  Getting past the gate at the farm wasn’t a problem. I’d met up with my contact at the donut shop, and he’d given me all the pass codes I needed to maneuver around the farmhouse undetected. Only detection wasn’t really an issue now.

  I had known her uncle would hear of our arrival. Small towns had strong wagging tongues. But I hadn’t thought he’d be so fucking bold coming for her in the bright light of the morning. My stomach rolled when I imagined him coming into the motel room, but I had to shove that shit away. I needed a clear head to get to her and get her out of there.

  I punched the key into the gate and sped up the drive to the house. One man stood guard at the front door, wearing a hoody and a smug grin. He stepped forward when I climbed out of my car.

  “Need something?” he asked, his beady gaze wandering over me, taking me in. I might not look like muscle with my pressed shirt and slacks, but he’d be surprised if he tried anything.

  “Yeah. Cherise,” I said, stomping up the steps straight for him. “She’s inside, right?” I pointed at the screen door. He backed up as I got closer, his hand reaching into his pocket.

  I rushed him, throwing my elbow into his throat then my knee connected with his stomach. He crumpled to the ground, gasping for air and holding his middle. I shoved him to his back with my foot, disgusted by how easily it was to throw him down.

  Pressing my foot to his chest, I shoved off his hood.

  “Fuck,” I breathed. “You’re a fucking kid!”

  I’m sixteen, asshole.” He coughed.

  I shook my head and pointed my gun straight at him. Panic burst through his eyes; his mouth opened to start the endless begging.

  “Shhh.” I shook my head. “No noise.”

  “What do you want?” he asked, shoving at my foot and trying to wiggle free.

  “Where’s Cherise?”

  “Kitchen.” He closed his eyes, probably waiting for the bullet.

  I pulled my foot back and kicked him hard enough to knock him out. “A fucking kid.” I left him on the porch and flung the screen door open. I wasn’t looking for a stealthy entrance.

  The farmhouse was laid out in a simple manner; the kitchen could be seen from the front door. I watched the doorways, expecting to see more men. Overconfidence was a fatal mistake.

  So was touching Cherise.

  “Shane?”

  “Sorry. He’s taking a little nap.” I walked into the kitchen, aiming my piece at the men at the table.

  The one closest to me, with a white scar on his face, ran his tongue over his teeth while he studied me. The guy next to him started to move.

  “No, no. Sit down, Carlos.” The first man waved him down.

  “You must be her little friend,” Randy said from a corner of the room. He leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Yep, that’s me. Where is she?” I asked, but from the corner of my eye I saw the door. A cold chill ran down me.

  He followed my gaze.

  “She’s safe. Tucked away for now.” The corner of his smug smile twitched.

  “Randy, I don’t have time for such drama,” the man at the table spoke.

  “No drama, Joseph. This asshole isn’t a problem.” Randy placed his cup on the counter and stepped toward me.

  “He looks like a problem,” Joseph said casually.

  “You’re fucking up a good thing here,” Randy said. “I just need her signature. Then she can go. You both can.”

  Randy raised his hands as though to gesture that everything was fine, nothing was out of the ordinary.

  I studied him for a minute, wondering if the amount of stupidity I was seeing could actually be real. Or was he playing me, was this an act?

  I glanced at the closed door.

  “Cherise, you okay?” I called out.

  “Yeah,” a weak voice answered me. He had her fucking locked up again in that small room. I gripped the handle of my gun harder, but I kept my finger off the trigger.

  “Bring her out here,” I told him.

  His gaze swung to Joseph, who gave a nod. “He wants her, get her.”

  Randy frowned. Maybe he thought his partners were going to let him keep her. So much stupidity, so much faith in bad people. It couldn’t be real.

  “He’s opening the door, Cherise. Come out, okay?” I called, keeping my sights on Randy. “Just come out.” If she’d managed to keep her Glock with her, I didn’t want her shooting as he opened the door.

  This was her kill, but I wanted that burden off her. I would take it. I would wear it for her to keep her safe from it.

  “Go
on, Randy, get her. We’ll get her signatures then finish this mess.” Joseph waved a hand.

  Randy, seeming to finally get the idea he wasn’t the alpha in this pack, shuffled to the door and slid the bolt. He yanked the door open.

  A shot fired. Randy jerked back, falling against the counter, and stumbled back a step until slipping to the floor. Blood spurted from his neck, down his shirt. His fat hand pressed against the wound, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

  I looked to the doorway. Cherise stepped out with her hand poised to take another shot. Her jaw set, her eyes focused on her uncle, she took cautious steps toward him until the toes of her shoes touched his leg.

  “Darlin’,” I said softly, trying to coax her attention.

  She moved her aim slightly to the left and squeezed off another round, hitting him in the shoulder. His scream came out gurgled; the blood flowed faster through his fingers on his neck.

  “Cherise,” I said firmer.

  She changed positions again, stepping between her uncle’s legs, and standing directly over him.

  “Look at me,” she ordered him in a low, controlled tone.

  His eyes rolled up.

  “You thought me stupid and weak, and for a long time I believed that, too.” She rolled her shoulders back, like prepping for the next move. “But not anymore.” Her finger moved, and the last shot hit his face, obliterating any hope of recognition should there be need.

  Blood splattered across the cabinets, the floor, onto her, but she remained stoic. After the scent of gunpowder faded away, she dropped her hands to her sides and turned to face me.

  “You good?” I asked, seeing the turmoil rolling into her features.

  “Good.” She nodded along with her lie.

  “Well.” Joseph stood from the table, along with Carlos. “That solves that problem.”

  Cherise turned her blood-splattered face toward the two men. “What problem is that?”

  “Your uncle,” Joseph answered. He took a step toward her. “He did believe you weak and stupid, but obviously he was very wrong about you.” He pointed at the body on the kitchen floor.