Unfaded Glory (14 page)

Betsy glared at him. “You did not.”

He nodded. “I did.” Then he grinned. “But she doesn't care.” Byron was still aware of stares boring into his back. He'd learned to live with whatever they thought of him.

“And neither should you,” Betsy admonished.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I don't care if she's fat as a piglet.” He cast her a sly glance. “As long as she doesn't care when I let the six-pack go.”

Damara made a face. “Does that mean that Adonis line will go away, too?”

“Most definitely.” She was so good at playing the game, for a moment, even he believed their banter was real.

She put the boxes down and the expression on her face was one of abject disappointment. Almost like a child who'd been told no lolly before bed.

“Damara,” he said quietly into the shell of her ear. “I'm only kidding. Eat yourself into a sugar coma. I like the sounds you make when you're eating these doughnuts.”

He also liked watching the blush stain her cheeks and pretending that this banter meant something more, that it wasn't just a show for the world.

“They're bad about making us blush, aren't they?” Betsy asked, shaking her head.

“How much do we owe you?” Byron asked. He wanted to get away from the genuine love he saw between Jack and Betsy, their bond, because Byron was still playing pretend, still dressing up like something better than what he was.

“Nothing at all.” Betsy beamed.

“India suggested you might like to make the wedding cake,” Damara offered.

“Won't you be accepting bids?”

“No. I want you,” Damara said. “If you'd do it.”

“Of course. I'd love to.” Betsy grinned even wider. “Really? I mean, this is a big deal.”

“Yes, really.”

“If she has her way, it'll just be doughnuts and French fries,” Byron said, trying to keep the tone light in his own head.

“I'm seriously considering it,” Damara teased.

“We better get moving if we want The Bullet Hole to ourselves for a while.”

“You like to shoot?” Betsy asked.

Byron realized all eyes were on them, and he nudged Damara. “I like mixed martial arts, too. I'm afraid I'm not always a very proper princess.”

And he felt the judgment of all those eyes sear deep into his bones. Damara could do no wrong, but the people here would never forget that he was just bad to the bone.

CHAPTER TWELVE

B
YRON
H
AWKINS
WAS
BUILT
like a god with the mouth of some dark knight turned poet, Damara thought as they reached The Bullet Hole. The things he said, the things he made her feel, it was as if he turned every emotion to ash and then filled her back up again. Her heart ached for him as much as the rest of her did.

She didn't think he realized how deeply he experienced things. The more he tried to shut them out, the more they cut into him. He was tragically beautiful, but not like a piece of art. He was real, he was flesh and he bled inside.

Damara was tempted to think if he'd just open up to her that she could help him shoulder his burdens. Yet, she wasn't as altruistic as he believed or as she wanted to be. Some of her reasons were purely selfish—something a princess wasn't supposed to be.

She couldn't help but wonder why it wasn't okay for her to want something or someone just for herself.

Except she knew why, and she knew why it couldn't be Byron Hawkins. He wasn't ready to be with anyone.

And that realization hurt, especially as she listened to the playful banter around her.

She shoved a doughnut in her mouth, hoping the sugary goodness could actually patch the wounds that had ripped themselves open.

“Are you going to taste it?” He eyed her.

No. They were the Better Than Sex doughnuts and those made her think about the night before, and right now she really had to focus on what she had to do for Castallegna.

Except at the moment, they were one and the same. She had to marry him for Castallegna. She had to put him and herself through this ruse for Castallegna.

She was glad they were going to a shooting range. She'd get to blow off some steam.

Her stomach did a little flip when she realized they were completely alone on the range.

He flashed her a grin. “Your safety is a matter of national security. I asked Renner to close it for the day and bring out some big boys for you to play with.”

If she'd ever thought she'd be allowed to go on a first date, this was what she'd want to do. She closed her eyes, trying not to be affected by the gesture.

“I just thought you'd need to know how to use some of the heavier weaponry. If the
Bratva
is running arms through Castallegna, this is probably what's going to be available for you to use.” He gestured at the array of weapons before them. “You don't look pleased.”

“It's just, this is so kind. This is exactly the kind of gift I'd want, if you'd asked me.” She tried not to make too big a deal of it, but it was. It meant a lot to her.

“Good. Let's blow shit up.”

He led her closer to the weapons. “This is an AK-12 Kalashnikov. It's a carbine rifle. They've just recently been phased out of use, so those weapons had to go somewhere. Most likely to men like Grisha and Vladimir. Because of your size, this is going to be harder for you to manage. So hold your hands, here and here.”

Byron posed her so that she had a better grip of the weapon, moving her around like a doll. She couldn't help but think about that morning when she'd seen all the hard body she was now pressed against so intimately. He smelled so good, and all she could think about was touching him when she should've been focused on the weapon in front of her. He was right. They could be running this very weapon through her country right now. If she was faced with one, what would she do? What could she do?

“Want to try it out?” he asked, curling his finger over hers and around the trigger. “You can fire six hundred rounds a minute at fully automatic. Or you can set it to a three-round burst, or semiautomatic. Right here.” He showed her with his other hand.

When Byron released her, she felt his absence acutely with a chill that was more than skin-deep.

“Ready?”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, as did Byron's. He scowled and leaned away from her to answer his own. “It must be important.”

She answered. “Hello?” Damara could hear that Byron's call had been linked to hers.

It was Renner. “Approximately three hours ago, another ship like
Circe's Storm
in the Mediterranean sent out a distress call. Satellite recon shows it was ‘escorted' to Castallegna by armed ships that have been linked to other incidents of piracy. Vladimir Kulokav announced to investors today that they'll be opening a shipping station in Castallegna as part of his new venture with his brother-in-law. The Council ratified your marriage to Grisha.”

Damara knew her brother would be angry, she knew on a logical level that he'd do anything to get what he wanted, but it was still a knife in her heart.

“Princess? Are you there?”

She nodded until she realized he couldn't see her. She would have to speak. She didn't want all the things she felt to choke her voice; she didn't want them to know just how much this hurt her. Even after everything, he was still her brother. “I'm here,” she managed in a small voice.

Byron met her gaze, and she shied away from the knowing there. She suddenly understood why he didn't want her to see when he was hurting—how weak and vulnerable she felt.

“I never signed anything. I never agreed. The law says—” she began. Damara hated how she sounded.

“Your brother changed the law. Two Council members who dared to oppose him were found dead this morning. Suicide, but we have proof that it wasn't,” Renner offered.

She narrowed her eyes. If he had proof of this, why hadn't he done something about it? “Do you have people on Castallegna?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don't they manage my brother?” She regretted it as soon as she said it because Byron had offered to “manage” her brother several times and she'd declined.

“The same as he doesn't want to cause an international incident, neither do we. But Interpol and the State Department have linked him to Kulokav's seedier ventures, like human trafficking, and they're both now wanted men. Your brother is wanted in Monte Carlo for murder.”

Damara felt as if she'd been punched. The hits just kept coming. Her brother, these things couldn't all be him. They just couldn't. Except she kept seeing the boy he'd been rather than the man who'd taken his place.

“So what do you want me to do?” she asked, dreading whatever was to come.

“We need to move up the wedding. You need to be a citizen of the United States. And you need to call your brother. We'll record the conversation and use sound bites in the media campaign,” Renner instructed.

She looked at Byron, and he nodded his approval to the plan. Of course, what else would he do? No, this had been the plan all along. It was a mission, a strategy.

She'd let herself forget that.

“Okay,” Damara agreed because there was nothing else to do.

Byron tried to put his arm around her, but she declined the support. He'd told her that she had to depend on herself, to trust only herself, and that's what she would do. She pushed away from him. She couldn't let herself rely too much on the strength she derived from his touch because it wasn't always going to be there.

“I assume you've got someone waiting to patch me through?” she said.

The line went dead for a moment before several clicks and ringing. The phone was like a brick in her hand, and her stomach rolled and twisted. She thought she was going to vomit, but instead she closed her eyes and breathed.

“I'm surprised you called,” Abele said after the first ring.

His voice made her stomach churn again. It made her homesick and heartsick. His voice was both familiar and warm but terrible, too.

“Your actions asked me to call.” She didn't know what else to say.

“I asked you to marry Grisha Kulokav, and you didn't do that.” His voice was low and silky, with an undertone that promised violence.

Damara was sure she didn't know the man speaking to her through the phone.

“Marrying a man and picking up the phone are two different things, my brother.” She hoped to remind him that she was his sister and that at one time, he'd loved her.

“Not so much. Both were for the good of my heart.”

Liar,
she wanted to scream. “I'm sorry if I've worried you, but I'm safe.”

“Your husband will be looking for you.”

“My
husband
is in the next room. Or didn't you hear about the secret wedding?” She couldn't resist needling him, driving home the fact that he didn't get to choose who she married and that she wouldn't let him do this to her or her country.

“Grisha is willing to overlook your mistake. The stupid bastard actually likes that you tried to kill him. He's even willing to take you now, even though you've spent your worth on that dirty American.”

The blooming confidence shriveled and burned like a flower too long in the sun. “Obviously, he must think I have some worth if he still wants to marry me.”

That's all she was to him. A path to different alliances, wealth and power. He no longer saw her as human, if he ever had.

She couldn't help but remember those times spent together as children and how he'd been her best friend growing up, her constant companion. He'd protected her, coddled her and loved her. Now he was someone else entirely.

“No, sister. You lost that chance. He doesn't want to marry you, but he'll keep you as his whore. His mistress. I've given you to him. By Castallegnian law, you are married. But it will be like Khan in the days of old. He will take you and do with you as he pleases.”

“There's something I've been wanting to ask you since this started,” she dared.

“Oh, and what is that?” He seemed amused.

“If you think women are worthless, that I am worthless aside from my womb, why did you bother to teach me to read, to think? Why did you give me books filled with Aristotle and Plato?”

He was silent.

“Maybe you disapprove of who I am, what I've done, but you had a hand in molding me, Abele.” She hoped to remind him of their shared memories, their shared joys. She hoped somehow it would wake him up to what he was doing. It would remind him that he loved her and she loved him.

“And I will unmake you.”

His words stabbed her. “Why do you hate me so much?” She was afraid of the answer, but she needed it all the same.

“I don't hate you, but you will learn your place. Just as I have learned mine. Our mother was a whore who spread for any man who'd take her. I won't let you do that to our line. You are no longer the crown princess of Castallegna.”

He was insane. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I am not our father's son!” he spat. “But nevertheless, I am king. And you, sister, have made yourself a criminal by defying me. I'm demanding your immediate return to stand trial.”

Terror knifed through her. She knew he was evil, she knew he'd done horrible things, but part of her had always thought she'd be able to make him see reason. If he got her back to Castallegna, it wouldn't be a trial. It would be a thematic production where the tragic princess dies in the end.

“Come home and face your punishment. If I have to come retrieve you, I can promise you it will be much more terrible than you can imagine. Your ranger might be tough, but there's only one of him and I have all of the
Bratva
at my disposal. I hope your keepers listening on the line heard that. Because they're on my list, too.”

The line clicked, and Abele was gone.

Damara stood frozen and sick with grief.

“I'll have your marriage license messengered to the house. All you have to do is sign it, and I'll rush the paperwork through for your citizenship. We can't rightfully keep you from him unless you're a citizen. We'll spin it that you abdicated your crown to be with Byron.”

Her fingers were curled so tightly around the phone, she'd lost feeling in the tips. “No, we won't. I'll sign the papers. I'll marry him. I'll even abdicate my crown, but I'm not doing it for anyone but the people of Castallegna. I'm doing it for democracy, and that's not a spin. It's important that my people know I haven't abandoned them. Making up a pretty romance was a great idea as long as it worked, but push came to shove. So I'm shoving back.”

“Princess, I really think—”

“Didn't you hear? I'm not a princess anymore. I've agreed to everything you've wanted, and I understand that in some cases, you know more than I do about such things. I'm content to be guided by your experience. But not in this.”

“You're risking support,” Renner pleaded.

“Then I'm risking it.”

“Then all of this will be for nothing,” Renner said in an attempt to manipulate her.

“If her people are stuck with that bastard, then it will be for nothing. She's made up her mind,” Byron said in her defense.

“Fine. Get back to the house. Sonja will meet you there.”

She clicked the phone off and stuffed it back in her pocket, still numb.

“Let me serve you now, Princess.”

“Like I told Renner, didn't you hear? I'm not a princess anymore.”

“Yes, you are. Being royal is just like family. It's not always blood that makes it so. Or what any piece of paper says. Your brother is a festering boil on the ass of humanity. Nothing he says should affect you.”

“After everything, he's still my brother.” Damara wished she could turn it off. She wished she could forget that fact, but she couldn't. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't do that, either.

“That's the only reason he's breathing now—trust me on that,” Byron said softly and pulled her close.

Damara did believe him. She knew the man who held her was a deadly weapon, but beneath all of that, she knew he was a person with dreams and fears just like anyone else. She wanted to dissolve in his arms. She wanted him to be a white knight and save her, but she knew what he'd do to save her. Byron Hawkins was a good man, but he was no white knight. Real men weren't.