A Vow of Lust and Fury (Underworld Kings)

“You’re gross.”

Renzo snorted and closed his eyes. As he drifted to sleep, I noticed the stress lines that clung to his normally youthful features, even in rest. That now-familiar guilt spread over my skin like a rash. My gaze drifted out the window at an eighteen-wheeler that had pulled into the service station, its gut-heavy driver refueling himself and his vehicle. I could just get out of the car now, hitch a ride with him somewhere. Renzo could go home. Would Father punish him? Undoubtedly. But I knew he wouldn’t kill him. Renzo was too important to The Outfit, an enforcer, the boss’s nephew.

I reached for the door handle, and the second it clicked open, the interior light came on, startling Renzo awake. He looked around before his eyes landed on me.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, leaning over me and tugging the door shut before engaging the locks.

“I…I just needed to pee,” I lied, unwilling to admit to anything that would make me seem ungrateful.

Renzo huffed out a breath. “Fine.” He took the gun from me. “Come on.”

And so, I earned myself the indignation of my brother waiting right outside the stall while I peed, and he lost some precious sleep to my stupidity.

That was how the next couple of days went as we steadily made our way north and farther from civilization. Cities gave way to snowy forests and lakes that looked like a mirrored doorway to some forgotten world. Despite the danger of our situation, there was a certain peace here. The vastness of it all made me feel small, a needle that could easily get lost in a haystack, and that made me feel safer. After three days on the road, Renzo finally thought it was safe enough for us to stay in a motel room for the night, and I was grateful. My back and hips were aching from being in the car.

It was late when we pulled up outside a run-down-looking motel in a tiny town. A blinking, red neon sign lingered over the gravel parking lot of a wooden building. It was quaint and kind of creepy, like something out of a Stephen King novel.

After Renzo got the key and our bags, he led me to one of the doors on the ground floor. The night air was freezing, and the jeans and heavy sweater I wore did little to keep out the chill as we crossed the lot to the room. The faded red paint was peeling from the door, and the number 6 hung at a jaunty angle. We stepped into musty, yellow walls, floral bedspreads, and worn carpet. The entire room smelled like feet, cigarette smoke, and desperation because only the most desperate souls would find themselves here, surely. I had to wonder what that made us because compared to the last two nights, this was an upgrade. I perched on the edge of the bed while Renzo set about checking the bathroom, then pulling the curtains and locking the door. I turned on the little box TV, and the room flooded with the low hum of enthusiastic infomercials.

Renzo never let down his guard, though, standing at the window and watching the parking lot. Red light from the neon sign outside sliced through the parted curtains, highlighting the heavy circles beneath his eyes.

“You should sleep for a few hours. We need to move again,” Renzo said without looking at me.

“You need to sleep, Ren, not me.”

He stayed where he was, gun clutched in his hand like he was waiting for a SWAT team to storm the place. In reality, it was probably worse.

On a sigh, I got up and took a shower, the first I’d had in three days. Then I changed into my jeans and a fresh shirt because if there was one thing I knew, it was to always be prepared to have to wake from a dead sleep and run. I lay down on top of the floral bedspread, unwilling to get any closer to the mattress that probably had more bodily fluids on it than a community bathroom. My gaze trailed over the silhouette of my brother’s back, wishing I could take some of the strain that pulled his muscles tight. Not that I could blame him.

I could practically feel the wolves nipping at our heels, their hot breath lingering over my skin. An image of my uncle’s face was constantly at the forefront of my mind, the rage painted in his cold eyes along with the glee he would find in punishing me. It was imprinted as a warning of what would happen should we get caught. And I knew exactly what my punishment would be…

“Renzo?”

“Yeah,” he replied without looking at me.

“He’s going to give me to Matteo, isn’t he?” I whispered into the darkness.

The second I’d told him what Uncle Sergio had threatened, Renzo had vowed to get me out, even if it killed him. I hadn’t taken that literally, but now I wondered if this would cost me dearly. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about getting caught, but now I was thinking about the consequences. If Giovanni got us, he might kill us both. If Uncle Sergio did, then Renzo would be punished and I’d be thrown to Matteo like a chew toy to a pitbull.