Broken Vow (Brutal Birthright, #5)

by Sophie Lark

I understand that. I often find it hard to say out loud what I actually feel. To tell people what they mean to me. If Cal or Nessa or my mother or father died, or Uncle Oran, I would have many regrets. Things left unsaid that would eat at me. Knowing that, you’d think I’d call them right now and let it all be said. But that’s not so easy, either.

How can I tell her how much I appreciate her sharing this with me? How can I tell her that my heart hurts for her younger self? That I admire that she did manage to leave and that she kept Raylan safe? All the words that come to mind seem pithy and weak.

I . . . care about Raylan. And you know when you care about someone, you want to understand them.”

I understand that kind of family structure—mine is similar. You grow up and start your own family, but you all stay intertwined.

“Riona helped make that,” Celia says. “Don’t give me any credit,” I shake my head. “I only chopped onions.” “That’s the hardest part,” Celia says, smiling at me.

I guess that’s southern hospitality. Specifically, the way they offer things with such warmth and genuine concern so you’d feel worse declining the favor than accepting it.

I have a hard time accepting compliments or warmth of any kind from people I don’t know well. I’m always looking for the ulterior motive, the hidden agenda.

for some reason, maybe because I know Raylan pretty well by now or maybe just because his family all has that same attitude of honesty and practicality, I feel relaxed around them. I can enjoy their friendliness and their interest without feeling like they’re prying at me, searching me over for flaws.

Nobody leaves the kitchen until the last crumb is wiped off the table. It’s clear that in the Boone family, everyone works together until the job is done. No matter how small that job might be.

I hadn’t planned to dance. For one thing, I don’t really know how. Not to country music, at least. And I’m not sure if I can look Raylan in the face after what we did this morning.

He always attacks his food and drink like that, as if it might disappear if he doesn’t swallow it down fast. As if it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. He pulls me out on the dance floor the same way, like there isn’t a moment

I find myself relaxing, melting against him like butter in a hot pan.

The dance floor is packed with people. All kinds of country boys—tanned, muscular, and charming. But none of them are as handsome as Raylan, not even close. And none can move like him. I’m not the only woman who can’t take my eyes off him. I’m sure plenty of these girls would love to cut in for a dance, but Raylan doesn’t pause for an instant between songs. He’s grinning and brimming with energy, dancing faster and harder by the minute.

Actually . . . the way he leads me through the dances reminds me of the way he rode that horse. Directing it so subtly and gently that the horse thought it had the freedom to run, while all the time it was doing exactly what he wanted. He’s doing the same thing now. Directing and training me without me even noticing. He’s got the lead, and I’m totally under his control.

I don’t want to be trained. I don’t want to be broken.

I hate the idea of being pregnant—of being essentially debilitated, unable to walk or run like normal, my body stretched out and taken over by another living thing. I never get that vicarious excitement that other people seem to experience. Quite the opposite—when I see a pregnant lady, I want to wince and look away.

when Cal and Aida had their baby, I felt discomfited. I was happy for them, but at the same time I felt like some kind of strange spell took hold of them both, changing them forever. It wasn’t a bad thing. But my brother is a father now. He’s irrevocably a different person than he was before.

“I don’t like crowds.” Then, with a half smile, she admits, “But I don’t really like being alone, either.

I understand that feeling—sometimes I go to a club or a party and the minute I get there, I’m annoyed by the noise and smoke. But then as soon as I get home again, I feel a kind of blank emptiness.

“I wish I could enjoy things as easily as everyone else seems to.”

“Sometimes I think they’re just pretending to have fun. And other times I think it really is that simple for the rest of the world. They’re a bunch of clocks that run right, and I’m just missing a gear somewhere

“She doesn’t like him that way?” Raylan looks over at me, dark eyebrow cocked. “Women don’t always know what they like.” I feel the color rising in my face. “That’s pretty sexist.” Raylan shrugs. “Okay. People don’t know what they like.” He grins. “Especially women.” I frown at him, my temper rising. “I know what I like and don’t like.” He keeps smiling at me in that infuriating way. “I don’t think you do.”

I want to slap his smug face again, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“No good dance ends without a brawl.”

I’m chasing after a girl who barely tolerates me, who seems determined to slam the drawbridge down on my head every time I try to wriggle my way through her castle wall.

She looked relaxed and free in a way I’ve never seen before. Strangely, she looked more herself than she did in Chicago. She was smiling and laughing, dancing with me like she’d been doing it all her life. She tries to be so rigid and stern, but that’s not her, not really. The real Riona is adventurous, climbing on a horse when she’s never been within ten feet of one before. She’s graceful, spinning around in my arms like she was born to dance. She’s perceptive, getting to know Bo when Bo’s as prickly as a cactus and can’t get along with anybody, including her own damn best friend. That’s what I see when I look at Riona. A woman who can be anything and do anything she wants. But she seems determined to deny it.

I felt her pulling away from me as we danced. I saw that resentment flare up in her eyes again, that refusal to let herself enjoy something that she was obviously loving just a few minutes before. I don’t understand her. But goddamn do I want to. I want it more than anything. I want to crack the code of her psyche. I want to win her over. I want to make her mine. And it’s not just ‘cause it’s a challenge. Maybe it started out that way—Dante calls me Long Shot for a reason. If you tell me I can’t have something, I want it ten times more. But it’s gone way past that with Riona. The more time I spend with her, the more I realize that she has a force of will inside of her stronger than a hurricane. I admire it. I never wanted some sweet-tempered country girl. I adore Shelby—she’s just the right kind of angel to put up with my brother. But I don’t want that for myself. I want an equal. Someone who pushes me and challenges me. I want a partner. The only problem is you can’t make somebody your partner against their will. And I don’t think Riona wants to tie herself to me for one goddamned second. I think even the idea of that would terrify her. I don’t know how to convince her to give me a real shot. But I’ve got a couple ideas.

From defense to offense mode. That’s fine—I’d rather fight than beat my head against a brick wall.

“When we were dancing—you were acting like we were dancing together. But you were the one in control.” “That’s what dancing is. The man leads, the woman follows.” “I don’t want that!” Riona snaps. “I don’t want to follow someone else. I don’t want to be controlled by someone else.”

“I saw you out there with that horse. You were acting all calm and patient with it. Lulling it into a false sense of security. Then you put the bridle on it, and then you got on its back. And soon you were riding it around. And the horse was galloping as fast as it could, thinking it could get away from you. But it didn’t realize it was already trapped. And then you just wore it down until you broke it. I’m not going to be that fucking horse!”

Riona scowls. One of the things that’s so damn infuriating about this woman is that she looks even more beautiful when she’s mad. Her cheeks get as red as her hair, and she looks fierce and imperious like an empress. It’s very distracting.

“That horse had never been ridden in its life. So yeah, I had to calm it down, ease it into accepting me. You’re right about that. But once I got on its back, we both wanted to run. She started galloping, and I urged her on to go faster and faster. She’d been galloping around out in the fields, but she’d never been chased, she’d never raced before. She’d never really run. I didn’t break that horse. I set it free. I showed her what she could do. And she fucking loved it.”

“I don’t want to trap you. I want to unleash you. I want to set you free. I want to show you what you really are . . . ”

“I want you to give yourself to me. I want you to do exactly what I say. And if you don’t love every fucking minute of it . . . I’ll leave you alone for good. I’ll never bother you again. Do you agree?”

scared of being restrained, wanting to resist me. But I know she’s curious, too—curious about what will happen if, for once in her life, she relinquishes control.

“If you do what I say, I’ll reward you. If you disobey…I’ll punish you.”

“Insane” is an ambiguous word. It could be good or bad. But I don’t have to ask if she enjoyed it. I know what Riona needs.

With my head resting on his chest, I can feel his heart thudding against my ear, steady and strong. It’s an incredibly peaceful sound. As regular as ocean waves.

How could everything I hate be twisted and turned to such a degree that I found it wildly arousing?

I’m pondering that question. Trying to understand what I just experienced. Right before I fall asleep, I see a glimmering answer, like a nugget of gold in the silt of a riverbed. It’s because I admire him.

I’ve never fucked a man I actually respected before. I’m so fucking arrogant that I looked down on every man ...

There was a particular pleasure in being conquered. Raylan is so handsome and rugged and capable that I felt like he deserved to have me. He deserved to have me any way he wanted.

I should be furious and disgusted. Instead . . . I fucking loved it.

It would only work with Raylan though, I know that. I would never respect another man enough to allow him to do that. Enough to WANT him to do it. And I would never trust anyone else like that.

I trust him. Just that thought alone hits me like a hammer.

But I trust Raylan. I really do. If his heavy, warm arms weren’t currently wrapped around me, I think that realization might terrify me. But I’m too calm, too drained, and too comfortable to feel any negative feelings right now. Instead, I slip off to sleep simply marveling that something so unexpected has happened to me.

I’ve never known anyone as perceptive as Raylan. I know I can be difficult—stubborn, cold, contentious. Most people don’t understand me at all. But Raylan sees through all that. Those blue eyes cut through the barriers I’ve built up. They cut through all my contradictory impulses. And he finds my real, true desires. The things I want that I would have sworn I didn’t want at all.

As if every other partner we’d been with was the wrong-sized shoe on the wrong foot—uncomfortable and always rubbing raw.

I look up at him, thinking how unusual it is for a man to be so handsome up close. Most people are better viewed from a distance. That’s why we close our eyes when we kiss.

I look up into his face and I DO feel safe. I feel cared for. These are not sensations that come easily to me. Sometimes I struggle to feel that way even with my own family. But Raylan isn’t obligated to care about me like family is. If he likes me, if he protects me . . . it’s simply because he wants to. It’s real and genuine.