Vow of Obedience ( Cavalieri Della 2)

He leans down and sets his lips against my ear. “What were you praying for so late at night? Guidance? Forgiveness?”

A shiver goes through me. He feels it and nudges a knee between my thighs. Past his shoulder, the gold cross on the altar gleams in the candlelight. Does this sacred place mean nothing to him? I press my hands against his chest and try to move away but he holds me fast against him.

“Have you taken a vow of silence, baby? You must have done something very, very bad.”

It must be painted all over my face, the sins I’ve committed. The things I’ll never be forgiven for. His fingers slip down over my behind and rub the cleft of my ass, and his voice is a delicious rumble.

“Don’t worry. I’ll forgive you.”

My traitorous heart starts to pound. The three little words I’ve waited so long to hear, and they’ve come out of the mouth of a dark angel.

I’ll forgive you.

He presses his lips to my temple, planting slow, fiery kisses there. “Do you want that, baby? Forgiveness? I can give you what you need. It would be a pleasure.”

Where did he come from? Is he a visitation, powerful and otherworldly, sent to me through prayer? As he kisses across my cheek toward my mouth, my lips part, ready to receive him.

Then he pulls away, and I see his eyes aren’t filled with benevolence, but brimming with a malice so cold, it steals the breath from my lungs. “But first, you’re going to do something for me. If you’re a very, very good girl, you might even live through this.”

I stagger on unsteady legs. Forgiveness was so close I could taste it, but it’s been snatched from my lips yet again.

“If you don’t live through this, I won’t be shedding any tears for little Branwen Lange.” He grasps me by the arm and impels me along the center aisle, toward the big, heavy, wooden doors, and I realize my mistake. This isn’t my savior. This man is my downfall.

My scream is frozen in my throat. I can’t speak. Not even to save my own life.

Geraint

Branwen Lange is an absolute pleasure to kidnap. She doesn’t so much as squeak as I march her out to my car. When she sees my dark green Ford Mustang GT at the curb, she starts to struggle, but she’s so slight that I just scoop her up one-armed, open the door, and sling her into the passenger seat.

“There. Nice and snug.” I slam the door in her bewildered face and lock it from the outside. I’ve removed the manual locks and the handle flaps as she tries the door ineffectually.

Whistling, I go around to the driver’s side and get in. Branwen is gripping the sides of her seat, eyes wide with terror and darting all over the place. I lean across her body to belt her in. “There now. All safe.”

She shrinks away from me, breathing hard. I wonder if she remembers me even though I had my hood up that night. It’s stupid, but I search her eyes for any sign she’s a murderer like her daddy. There’s no ferocity or cruelty in her gaze. There’s only fear.

I shove the key into the ignition and the car roars into life. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us and we’re getting on the road tonight. I love this fucking car. She makes her throaty purr as I rev the engine and I can feel it with my whole body. These classic cars, you can connect to them in a way you can’t with today’s muscle cars. My baby has a soul. Shit that’s real, that’s what’s important to me. Things I can hold in my own two hands.

We peel away from the curb and onto an empty road. I take the back streets as much as I can as I head for the interstate, not liking the idea of sitting at too many traffic lights while Branwen signals the other drivers for help.

“You’ll get used to it in a bit, baby. I know it’s new and all, getting kidnapped, but you’re doing great. Five out of five.” I talk slow and soothing. “Let me tell you about myself. My name’s Geraint and I’m thirty-four. A Scorpio. I’ll bet you’re a Taurus. Stro

ng, silent type.” I grin at her. Nothing. “Anyway. You’re probably wondering what you’re doing here and what I want with you.”

If I was hoping for a nod or anything to show me that she’s listening, she disappoints me. Her eyes dart around the car and she sees the icebox on the back seat.

“Want a cold drink, baby? Help yourself.” I laugh, and I can see it confuses her even more. She’ll know what’s that for sooner than she wants to. “As I said, I’ve got a job to do. A very personal job, and you’re going to help me do it. I need to talk to your daddy, but the problem is, your daddy doesn’t want to talk to me. That’s where you come in. We’re going to Avallonis, and you’re gonna persuade him for me.”

The lie passes easily over my lips. The only talking Adelmo Lange’s going to do when I get my hands on him is to say a prayer for his soul before I put a bullet in his head.

I notice her gnawing on her lip and her doll-like eyes are distracted and scared.

“And you’re not even fucking listening to me,” I mutter, making a left and cruising down an empty street. It’s past midnight and the streetlights are bright around here. I’ve got to get onto the interstate before my captive comes to her senses and starts beating on the windows for help.

“Hello? Branwen?”

Maybe she’s deaf. Next time she turns to look out the window, I reach out and snap my fingers right by her ear. The only reason she doesn’t jump out of her seat is because she’s buckled in tight.

Not deaf then. Just petrified.