Broken Vow (Brutal Birthright, #5)

by Sophie Lark

I always remember numbers—addresses, phone numbers, birthdays. And the numbers in legal files. I don’t know why they stick in my brain. I could tell you case file numbers from years back. It’s useless information most of the time—I’d rather keep the brain space for something else. But that’s the way my mind works.

Raylan frowns, like he’s annoyed that I know Nick’s number. Like he thinks it means something.

I’ve got too much to deal with without having to baby Nick’s feelings too.

I know Raylan is as aware as I am that there’s no relationship between the two of us. He’s been hired to do a job, which is to protect me. We’re not friends. And we’re definitely not lovers. We can barely stand each other half the time. Still, there is that weird energy that arises every now and then.

I’m not offended when people aren’t friendly. Actually, it just mirrors how I feel inside. So I’m quite comfortable with it. Neither of us has to pretend.

There’s a lot more to Raylan than meets the eye. I want to know more about him, while simultaneously feeling that I really shouldn’t get close to him in any way, shape, or form. It can only lead to trouble for both of us.

Southern hospitality can be a lot. It’s warm and welcoming but also overwhelming and smothering when you’re not used to it.

She has such a tough personality that it’s easy to believe the impression she gives off deliberately: that she isn’t vulnerable or emotional. That she can’t be hurt. That she isn’t human enough to take joy in simple, silly pleasures like singing along to an old song on the radio. I like both sides of her. I like her grit and her drive. And I like that she does feel things, underneath. I think she feels them intensely, actually.

my father. Looking out my bedroom window, I’m thinking of him most of all. I can see the cherry trees he planted all along the side of the house because he knew how much mom loved the blossoms. The cherries were sour. He made them into tarts. I can almost see him sitting on the wooden fence around the paddock. Long black hair. Sun-faded shirt. Jeans loose on his hips. But I can only picture him from behind. I can’t see his face.

There’s a certain energy that comes from waking up in an unfamiliar place. I feel alert and curious. Wanting to see more of everything in full daylight.

I hate when my hair gets unruly. It makes me feel powerless. If I can’t control my own hair, then how can I control anything in my life?

I could ask Raylan, I’m sure he knows. But that will make me look even more ignorant.

I’ve never felt anything like this. A lot of the things I do for pleasure—swimming, running—are meant to calm me down. Put me in a zen state. This is the opposite. I feel enlightened. I feel alive. I feel terrified and exhilarated and thrilled, all at once.

Wild like . . . like Raylan, I guess. He always seems like a force of nature. Like he could never belong to a city or a place. He’s just himself, at all times. Wherever he might be.

I think you could put any tool in the world into Raylan’s hands and he’d figure it out.

Maybe I’m losing it, after all the things I’ve been through the past few weeks. But I find myself staring at him in awe. Thinking I’ve never seen a more attractive man.

I never fucking stammer. I’m a lawyer. I’m endlessly articulate. But as Raylan unzips his jeans, I couldn’t form a sentence to save my life.

His eyes are so bright that they look as if they’re on fire, like the blue flame under a gas burner.

I want him. I want him right now. It’s all over my face. I can’t hide it.

Raylan is tempting in a way that terrifies me.

I have no advantage with Raylan. If I let go right now, if I give in to this desire, I’ll be completely out of control. I’ll be in totally uncharted territory. I don’t understand my desire for him or how I feel about him as a man. Sometimes he drives me insane. And sometimes I admire him, against my will. None of that is normal for me. None of it is comfortable.

He scares me. My only protection is pretending I don’t want this. Pretending I’m committed to another man.

I’ve never admitted to being intimidated. I’ve never admitted to being afraid, period.

“I told myself I wouldn’t kiss you again without your permission.” I swallow hard. “But that was a stupid fucking promise.” He grabs my face between his hands, and he kisses me hard,

I want him like I’ve never wanted anything before.

Raylan says, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

Standing in the water with her red hair all wild and wavy around her shoulders, she looked like Aphrodite. Like a goddess made flesh for the very first time.

I never would have thought she’d let go like that. I thought it might take months to dig down to that kind of ferocity. But it was waiting, right below the surface. Dying to be released.

Now I want to be close to Riona. I want to grab Penny’s reins and pull her over so I can rest my hand on Riona’s thigh and tell her that she’s fucking gorgeous, and sexy, and brilliant, and stubborn. That she drives me insane, and I can’t get enough of her. But I know I can’t do that. Riona will spook.

I’ve gotten to know this woman better than she’d like to admit. I know that it terrifies her to lose control. It terrifies her that I’ve seen through her armor, seen the actual person beneath. Now that she’s been exposed to me, she wants to clam up again. She wants to rebuild those walls. That’s fine . . . I’ll let her think that it’s working. That she’s still in control of this thing between us. And then, when the moment is right . . . I’m going to capture her again. I’m going to find her most vulnerable places, the cracks in her armor, and I’m going to split it wide open. I’m going to grab hold of her—stripped down, raw, and genuine. And I’m going to force her to admit what she actually likes. But not just yet. Right now, I need to pull back and give her space. Let her get comfortable again. Let her think she has control. Meanwhile, I’m just biding my time.

he doesn’t always know how to connect with a horse. He treats each one the same. And no horse is the same.

Riona heads back toward the house. I feel a strange pull to follow after her.

In fact, the animal with the greatest endurance is a human. You could run a horse into the ground if you had unlimited time and distance to chase it. We’re not as fast as them, or as strong. But there’s no creature more tenacious than we are.

It’s just a horse. It was bred and raised for work. But there’s a stubbornness in me, a contentiousness, that wants to see that horse rebel. I hate to see it broken.

She seems impatient, like the rest of the world is moving too slowly for her. I understand that. I often feel like people are thinking and speaking at half speed. It’s a constant struggle to maintain the appearance of patience.

I look out the window again, my eyes irresistibly drawn back to Raylan. I feel a pull toward him unlike anything I’ve experienced before.

I’ve never felt anything like that. I was completely out of control. And usually I hate that sensation. Hate it more than anything. But in this particular instance . . . It was almost worth the trade.

I’ve never been so wildly attracted to someone. Never felt my body respond like that . . . And now I want to shut it off again. I want to turn it off like a faucet because I don’t know where this will take me. I don’t know what will happen if I give in to that impulse again.

He’s at his most powerful here, and I’m at my most confused and off kilter. I don’t have any of the trappings of my normal life—my clothes, my routine, my career, my own family. Those are the core elements of my identity. What am I, stripped down to nothing and brought to this strange place?

I want to tell Celia that we’re not dating, but I can’t exactly say there’s nothing between us.

“He told me you weren’t together. But he’s never brought a girl home before.”

I’ve seen this before in depositions—the human desire to share information, battling against the endless unknowable consequences of our own words.

I should have realized then what a warning that smile was, but when you’re a teenager, you don’t realize you’re just a child. You don’t realize how different adults are from you. You think you’re one of them, or close to it. You don’t know that in innocence and vulnerability, you’re like a kitten padding around next to a tiger.”

I’ve learned that when someone is in the flow of a narrative, the worst thing you can do is derail them. Not if you want to learn something.

“Looking back on it now, he probably spent less than three thousand on me. Which seemed like all the money in the world. Now I think how cheap I sold myself to him.”

then instead, I said, ‘I’m sorry.’ And he smiled. That’s what he wanted to hear. He wanted me to accept fault, even for an innocent mistake. And he wanted me to accept my punishment.”

Men like Ellis like to think that they’re original, but they couldn’t be more predictable if they were operating out of a literal playbook.

“Of course, for me, the pregnancy was a time bomb. A countdown to my greatest fear of all—that what was being done to me might eventually spill over onto an innocent child.

I can see tears in the corners of Celia’s eyes. Not tears of sorrow—tears of happiness, remembering that time when she was free again and married to a man who actually loved her, with three beautiful small children running around.

“I think the guilt was too much for him. He never had a chance to reconnect with Waya. To tell him . . . that he knew Waya was his father. Regardless of blood. And that he loved him. Waya knew all that, of course. And Raylan knows it, too. But when you don’t get to say the words