Page 28 of Cruel Pawn (Cruel Duet #1)

Arden

“ S tefan tells me you’ve gone off the deep end,” a low, rumbling voice commented behind me.

I paused in the act of pulling my victim’s intestines out through a gaping hole I made in his stomach, the innards dangling like bunting in the cold basement. “Not really.”

Kavan snorted. “Tell me that when you’re not elbow deep in organs, kid.”

I rolled my eyes. Kavan and his wife, Anna, my aunt, took me in when I was thirteen. He was as much my father as my biological dad. Who needed a treacherous scumbag of a mother when you’d had two dads? Even if one of them was dead, because of her.

“I’m completely fine,” I insisted, ripping hard until the rest of the intestines surged out of the dead guy’s body.

Well, he started off alive, but I might have lost a tiny bit of control, and he died of blood loss when I stabbed him in the heart.

Or maybe driving a corkscrew into someone’s heart was enough to kill them even without blood loss.

Something to look up later. I bet my opera would be interested in it, too.

“Sure,” Kavan agreed, striding across the Marshall family basement to lean against a stack of metal crates full of clothes.

You’d be amazed how many changes of clothes you needed when you tortured and killed people.

We each had a crate—mine was full of sweatpants, cute shirts, and hoodies.

Damien, the utter psycho, had a box full of fancy suits.

Who wanted to wear a designer suit after killing someone?

“Is that why you cracked his ribcage open?”

Another candidate for why the guy died, ending my fun prematurely.

“He assaulted my future wife.” I draped the intestines around the dick’s neck like a scarf and reached for more organs, ripping things out carte blanche, the violence like a storm inside me.

“Do I get a wedding invite?” Kavan asked casually.

“It’ll be a small, intimate affair,” I replied, grunting when one of the bastard’s ribs resisted my efforts to snap it off.

“How small? You, the girl, and the vicar?”

I didn’t reply, adding more weight into my efforts until the rib came away. I used it to open some more gouges on the fucker’s body.

“Arden.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re off the deep end is what you are,” he sighed. “What happened? Did this woman do something?”

“Eh.” I shrugged. “She was hired to kill me, but that’s all water under the bridge. She loves me now.”

The only thing she could do that would ever harm me was leave, but I’d made sure that was impossible.

Even if she tried to run, I would find her.

I’d sewn Airtags into my shoes while she slept, in case she found a way out of the cottage.

Plus, there was the tracker in the halva she ate this morning.

There was nowhere my Priya could run that I wouldn’t find her.

Kavan’s silence seemed sceptical, and sure enough when I discarded my victim’s liver to the floor, he had an eyebrow raised in my direction.

I rolled my eyes, but his concern bathed my insides in warmth.

We looked nothing alike, Kavan tanned and broad with distinguished features and a little silver sprinkled in his dirty blond hair, me with my black hair slicked away from my face while I worked, my skin pale, features harsh, eyes the darkest brown, but I looked at him and saw my dad.

I sighed, and the longer he stared at me the more my rage, my violence, my walls disintegrated.

Behind them, I was shaken and small and hurt. It wasn’t even anger I was feeling, but pain.

“Guess who sent her to kill me,” I asked with a strangled laugh. “Guess who paid my future wife a hundred thousand pounds to make sure my heart flatlined, my lungs stopped, and my eyes turned sightless and empty. Guess.”

Kavan sighed heavily, pushing off the stack of metal boxes and striding across the basement to me. Unbothered by the blood he tracked across the floor, now smeared on the bottom of his shoes. “Cricket,” he said with no small dose of anger.

I nodded jerkily, bloodied hands curling into fists. I drove one into the pulped mess of my victim just to expel this prickly, sharp emotion carving a space in my chest. It tore up my throat too, making it hurt when I swallowed.

Kavan grabbed my shoulder when he was close enough, squeezing tight. “We’ll make her pay, just give me the word. I know she’s your mother—”

A bitter, twisted laugh erupted from me.

“We’ve left her alone for years, but sending an assassin to take you out is unforgiveable.”

I shrugged a shoulder, acting casual about it. “She probably wants the money Dad left me. As far as she knows, she’s still in my will.”

Kavan’s gaze settled on me; I felt it heavy on the side of my face. “You wrote her out?”

“This morning,” I confirmed. “Now even if my wicked witch of a mother has me killed, all my worldly wealth will go to Priya.”

“Priya’s the woman you’re obsessed with?” Kavan clarified, those steady, patient eyes on me. He’d never once lost his temper with me even when he was furious, had never lashed out with words or fists, never even called me a name unlike the monster who birthed me.

“She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“The mercenary who was sent to kill you…”

I groaned. “You sound like Stef.”

“Stefan knows?” Kavan shoved my shoulder. “Why am I always the last to know whenever you boys meet a girl? First Damien, and now you.”

I smiled even if I was in a foul mood. I loved being one of the boys, loved being a Marshall. Wanted and accepted even if I was flawed and severely lacking in every way. “I’ll show you the wedding pics. Promise.”

“Or you could just invite me.”

“Nope.” I ducked out from under his hand, returning to my bloodied masterpiece.

“Damien invited you to his wedding, and he only had hours to plan the damn thing.”

I waved a hand. “Let him sulk at not being invited to mine. I’ll show him the pictures, too.”

“If this is about your mother—”

“Who I don’t want to talk about—”

“We can handle her,” Kavan insisted, his voice that miraculous balance of steely and caring that only parents could manage. “Say the word, Arden.”

I clenched my jaw, not liking the hot burn in my bones, my skin, my eyes. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he insisted, his eyes on me as I made quick, desperate work of emptying my victim of the rest of his insides.

“Just give us the green light, and we’ll handle it.

No one fucks with the Marshall family; she knew that.

By sending a hitman after you, she’s just asking for retaliation. ”

“Hitwoman,” I corrected, glaring at the mess of organs on the floor. I wished the bastard had stayed alive longer; I was nowhere near done. But my head was a little clearer, my mood less explosive. “A sexy, sexy hitwoman.”

Kavan snorted. “Do I ever get to meet the woman?”

“Of course.” When she’d accepted that we belonged together and wasn’t a second away from running. “I’ll bring her to the next Marshall family dinner.”

“Good. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“This Friday?” I winced, imagining dragging my wife there kicking and screaming.

She’d stab someone. Probably Stef, who couldn’t keep his smart mouth shut.

Then Damien would leap to his defence, and Vasilisa would get involved with a handgun she’d concealed in a pretty dress.

Then Jonathan would join the fray, Cameo would jump in purely for the chaos, the twins would end up getting weapons from somewhere, Kavan would get hurt trying to break up the fight, and we might even rile Vincent into joining.

And if anyone hurt my girl, I’d be honour bound to shoot them.

No, it would be too messy. “Maybe the next one. We have prior arrangements on Friday.”

Kavan watched me. And kept watching me until I squirmed. I volunteered nothing, but his silence told me he knew something was slightly off.

“Three questions,” he said, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

I tried not to smile, but I secretly adored him interrogating me. I greedily coveted every little reminder that I was part of this family. He wouldn’t give that steely, exasperated look to a stranger; that was reserved for family. “Okay, three questions.”

“Does this Priya know you exist?”

I shot him an affronted glare. “Of course she does. I’m the love of her life.”

“Did she say that with her own words?”

“Is that one of the three questions?”

He snorted, then wiped the expression clean, trying to be stern. “No. Is she a willing participant in this relationship, or have you done something utterly insane? If you’re hurting this girl, Arden, even if she did try to kill you—”

“I would never,” I hissed, offense clawing through me at the suggestion.

“I know you’re not that sort of man, Arden, but you do have a crazy streak. As long as she’s with you by choice.” He strode through blood and organs to grab both of my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Is she?”

“Yes.” She would be, by the time he met her, and that was all that counted.

“Good.” Kavan sighed, though the look he gave me was still suspicious.

“What’s the third question?”

“Is she at least borderline sane?” he asked with a wry smile creasing his kind eyes. “God knows we need some more sanity in this family.”

“Uhhh…” I said, my eyes squinted in a wince. “She’s a little bit sane. She definitely has sanity in there. Somewhere. Buried deep down.”

Kavan groaned. “God save us.” He squeezed my shoulders.

“I’m happy for you, Arden, but don’t rush into anything.

I’m fucking thrilled Damien and Vasilisa worked out, but that happened far too damn fast. I want you to take your time, get to know each other before you do anything mental like, for example, marrying the woman who was hired to kill you.

Speaking of, how long have you known each other? ”

“Four months,” I replied, thinking of those early days and ignoring the fact she used a fake name and smiled too sweetly. It was real, beneath the facade, beneath the persona, when we connected, collided, came together into one perfect couple, it was real.

Kavan looked pleasantly surprised. “Well, at least it’s not two days,” he quipped.

That was one great thing about the Marshall family—no matter what insanity the rest of us jumped into, no one could ever be as crazy as Damien “the Saint” Marshall.

“I want to meet her within the month though. She deserves the old Marshall inquisition for trying to kill you.”

“That’s my future wife, Kavan.” I narrowed my eyes. “If you scare her, I’ll have to stab you.”

His barked laughter was loud enough to echo off the low concrete ceiling. “You’d have to catch me first, kid. And we both know you’d never beat me in a fight.”

I scowled, but he was right. For a man in his fifties, he was an annoyingly good fighter.

He’d been a boxer in his youth, and age really ought to have caught up to him by now, but having a home gym and a business in crime and violence kept his edge as sharp as ever.

I could hold my own against him for minutes, but I wouldn’t win.

He snorted at the look on my face and released me with a tight squeeze to my shoulder. “Keep talking to Stef, he’ll keep your head on straight.”

That was debatable when he had his own obsession, but I didn’t comment that. “Cameo knows all about it, too.”

“That’s less reassuring,” Kavan remarked dryly, going to the sink at the edge of the room to clean the blood from his shoes before he headed for the door. “Keep me updated, Arden. I want to know everything.”

“I’ll give you the abridged version.”

His smile was like being bathed in sunlight. I might have the worst mother on the planet, but I did have a good family. I’d needed the reminder.

“Kavan,” I said as he opened the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What’s the best way to remove a head from a body?”