Bloody Vows (Lilah Love Book 5)

Kane settles into the chopper seat next to me and I don’t miss the flex of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that has nothing to do with our tense words. It’s about pain that he would voice, the result of the wounds created by the two blades shoved into his shoulders by Roger, meant to paralyze his arms, still only a week old. He yanks his seatbelt across his chest and I catch it and insert it for him. I might still be fuming a bit over our conversations, but I will protect him. I would kill for him. And we both know it. I used to think the problem for us was his ability to kill for me. Now I lean toward my ability to kill in general being a problem. The fact that it often doesn’t feel like a problem is an even bigger problem.

That part of me, the killer I’ve believed I could be since that night on the beach years ago, is becoming colder and more comfortable, freer. That’s exactly why I lean in and press my lips to Kane’s. I need to feel something. I need to be human right now. He cups my head and kisses me the way only Kane can kiss me, and thank God, emotion stirs inside me, all the emotions a girl should feel when a man like Kane Mendez kisses her. He pulls back and stares down at me, knowledge in his eyes. He knows me. He knows what I’m battling but he hasn’t forced me to talk. I’m back to him knowing me. I need conversation like I need a hole in my head right now.

And when the kiss is over, and he’s firmly reminded me that yes, I am still human, I do still have emotions, he settles back in his seat. And so do I. I lower my head to the cushion when another time I’d pull out the cold case files that are part of my job. Murphy told me to pick my case, but what he meant was to look for cases that connect to the Society. I’m just not sure that really gets us anywhere, and I’m not exactly a spin-my-wheels-for-nothing kind of agent.

But my mind is on murder. Oh yes, it so fucking is.

The swoosh of the chopper blades and the hum of the engine lifting us off the ground transports me back to the moment when I’d launched myself at Roger and started stabbing him. Over and over, I stabbed him. And then he was dead. He is dead, there is no coming back from that, and the blood is still warm on my hands. He’d stabbed Kane. He’d bragged about killing all those innocent victims. He’d bragged about killing my mother at the direction of the Society, which means Pocher. And he’d assured me I was a killer like him. I’d happily proven him right.

My mind goes to my father, and his reaction to me being raped. “At least they didn’t kill you.” He knows the Society killed Mom, I know he knows, that statement tells me he knows, and still, ~still~, he’s with them, using them for power and political office. I think of her beauty, her kindness, her goodness, that was too good for him, and me. I’m like him and he’ll know that soon when I make him pay for his part in all of this.

I’m not sure how much time passes before Kane squeezes my leg and I jolt awake, instantly aware of his warning me of the imminent landing. It’s not long before we’re on the ground, deboarding, and heading inside the airport together. There was a time when I’d have been concerned about the gossip we stir, but that time isn’t now. I still can’t say that Kane and I are good for each other, but I simply don’t care anymore. We fit together. I always knew this, of course, from the moment I met him, but that was the problem. I saw my addiction to a man as notorious as Kane Mendez as a judgement on my character. Back when I wasn’t willing to take responsibility for who, and what, I am.

Once our bags are in hand, we step outside, an early fluttering of snowflakes in the air and dusting our shoulders, but our pace is steady, relaxed. In control. I like this about Kane. He’s always in control. Control is good and it’s not long before we're inside the sporty black Mercedes he favors here on the island. He cranks the engine to a low, smooth hum and I’m remarkably happy to be here. It is the home to both of my crimes. My mind flashes back to the night I killed Roger. To me standing naked in the shower with Kane as he washed the blood off of me, my new diamond on my hand. We didn’t speak then, either. But when he pulls us onto the road, it’s hard not to be back on that boat where he proposed, and I killed Roger. “I don’t feel guilty.”

There’s a slight shift to the air, but Kane’s reply is nothing short of nonchalant. “And that bothers you,” he assumes. God, he knows me.

“I am an FBI agent. I should feel something different. I shouldn’t feel—”

He glances over at me. “I’m not the person you pause with, Lilah. You know that. Finish the sentence.”

“I felt guilt after killing that man on the beach. He raped me and I still felt guilt. I don’t this time, Kane. I feel happy he’s dead. That doesn’t feel normal.”

He halts the car at our front gate and punches in a security code, glancing over at me to ask, “Normal by whose definition?”

“My training. My textbooks,” I reply as he pulls us into the garage.

“All right,” he says, killing the engine and turning to face me. “Then per some books, you’re not normal. First of all, I doubt seriously anyone who wrote those fucking books faced a serial killer who also killed their mother. And if you were normal, beautiful, I wouldn’t be in love with you. And before you tell me how dysfunctional that is, how dysfunctional we are, you are not one of them. I know that’s what you think. That you’re one of the killers you hunt, but you are not one of them.”

“They’re drawn to me. Roger was drawn to me.”

“And therefore, you were able to kill him when someone else would have ended up dead. Do not let that bastard fuck with your head. He was drawn to you because you were a threat. He needed to control you and he failed.”

“Because it takes a killer to catch a killer?” I challenge.

“You’re not a killer, Lilah. You do what’s necessary. You’re willing to kill when necessary. Two different things.”

My cellphone rings and certain it must be Murphy again, I grab it to find my brother calling. “Andrew,” I say. “He must have heard about Pocher.”

Kane’s lips flatten but he says nothing. He exits the car and I do the same, answering the call with, “You heard.”

“I heard. Are you here?”

“We just got to the house. Why?”

“I have a dead body on my hands. I need you.”

“What dead body?” I ask and Kane is instantly in view at the end of the car, watching me. I guess when you buried a body the last time you were here, the words dead body get your attention. “And why do you need me? You have like seventy people on staff,” I add.

“A bride, Lilah. A woman in a wedding dress. I’m sure you can see why that makes me think of you.”

My spine stiffens. “Text me the address,” I say and disconnect, and Kane appears by my side.

“A dead bride, one week after you proposed, and the day we return to the island. The day Pocher reappears. There are no coincidences. This is not a coincidence.”

“No,” he says, handing me the keys. “It is not.”