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Chapter no 7 – RIONA

Broken Vow (Brutal Birthright Book 5)

I wake up alone in my bed with the sunshine streaming in through my window.

I slept in late, which is strange for me.

I can hear the clinking sound of somebody moving around in my kitchen. I realize itโ€™s Raylan, and I remember how I woke up screaming in the night.

My face burns, knowing what a fool I made of myself. Screaming like a little kid with a nightmare.

He had to come in and hold me, like I was five years old. I hate that he saw me like that. Weak and vulnerable.

On the other hand, the memory of the dream is still fresh in my mind. I was swimming, but not in the clean, bright rooftop pool. It was night, and I was swimming in a huge, dark lake. My hands looked ghostly white in the black water.

Something grabbed me from below and dragged me down. I could see the reflection of the moon up on the surface, growing tiny like a pinprick of light as I sank down, down. The water was freezing cold and pitch dark. The thing that had hold of me was monstrously large. It grabbed me with a dozen tentacles that squeezed all around my bodyโ€”around my arms, legs, chest, and throat. It kept pulling me down no matter how hard I fought. And when I finally had to gasp for breath, cold water flooded my lungs.

I woke up tearing at the sheets that had wrapped tight around my body. I heard someone screaming and it took me way too long to realize it was me. I touched my face and felt that it actually was wet and cold. Iโ€™d been crying in my sleep.

I hope to god Raylan didnโ€™t notice that, at least.

Iโ€™ll admit, it did feel good when he held me. I was ashamed of myself. And embarrassed that he ran in there half-naked, wearing just the boxer shorts heโ€™d been sleeping in. But I couldnโ€™t deny how warm his arms were, and his bare chest pressed against my face. He was like a huge blanket fresh out of the dryer. His warmth seemed to seep into my body, calming me down.

But now I have to face him. And Iโ€™m self-conscious all over again.

Not wanting to hurry that particular meeting, I take a shower first, and get dressed in a blouse, slacks, and a pair of loafers. Then thereโ€™s nothing else to do but go out to the kitchen.

Raylan is messing around at the stove. Heโ€™s got four different frypans going

โ€”one on each burnerโ€”and heโ€™s wearing my apron over a fresh flannel shirt. His black hair looks damp and clean, like he already showered. I notice he didnโ€™t bother to shave, though. His thick black stubble makes him look rakish. Especially when he smiles, showing those sharp teeth.

I donโ€™t usually let men sleep over at my place. So Iโ€™m not used to somebody taking over my kitchen, using my frypans and my spatulas, spattering grease on the stovetop.

I donโ€™t even know where the hell he got all this food. I certainly didnโ€™t buy bacon and eggs and whatever he used to make french toast.

At least I can smell the rich scent of coffee. I pour myself a mug. โ€œFoodโ€™s almost ready,โ€ Raylan says.

โ€œI usually just have coffee,โ€ I tell him. โ€œCoffeeโ€™s a drink. It ainโ€™t breakfast.โ€

Raylan dishes up two massive plates full of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, thick-cut french toast slathered in butter and syrup, and some kind of hash

made of peppers and potato.

He sets a plate down in front of me, taking the seat opposite for himself. โ€œThereโ€™s no way I could eat all this,โ€ I tell him.

โ€œThatโ€™s brain food,โ€ he says, taking a huge bite of french toast.

โ€œThatโ€™s two thousand calories. Thatโ€™s like your whole day on one plate.โ€

โ€œNot my whole day. Takes a lot more than a plate of breakfast to feed this body, darlin.โ€™ โ€ He grabs a piece of bacon and takes a big bite out of that, too.

I shake my head at him. โ€œYouโ€™re gonna have a heart attack.โ€ โ€œWhen have you ever seen a cowboy die of a heart attack?โ€ โ€œIs that what you are? A cowboy?โ€

โ€œYou bet. Raised on a ranch in Tennessee.โ€ โ€œWhat happened to it?โ€

โ€œOh, itโ€™s still there.โ€ โ€œWhyโ€™d you leave?โ€

โ€œI got restless. Wanted to see what else was in the world. Besides . . .โ€ Raylan grins. โ€œI never said I was aย goodย cowboy.โ€

I have to admit, the bacon on my plate does smell delicious. I pick up a slice and take a bite. Itโ€™s crispy and chewy, as fragrant and satisfying as the ribeye steak the night before. If I keep spending time with Raylan, Iโ€™m going to become a carnivore.

โ€œSee?โ€ Raylan says. โ€œNot bad, huh?โ€

I try a bite of the hash, too. The potatoes are crisp on the outside, fluffy in the middle. Well-seasoned with salt and pepper, and sweet sautรฉed red pepper and onion.

โ€œYouโ€™re a good cook,โ€ I admit.

โ€œYou like to cook?โ€ Raylan asks me. โ€œNo. I hate it, actually.โ€

โ€œWhy?โ€

โ€œAll that work just to make something thatโ€™s gone five minutes later.โ€

I donโ€™t tell him the other reasonโ€”I hate doing anything thatโ€™s expected of me just because Iโ€™m a woman. Cooking, cleaning, childcare . . . I bristle against the idea that I should want to do those things. That I should let them consume me while men spend their hours on more โ€œimportantโ€ work.

My own mother was never a housewife. But sheโ€™s always deferred to my father. Heโ€™s the head of the family, and sheโ€™s his right hand. I donโ€™t want to be anybodyโ€™s hand.

Thatโ€™s why Iโ€™m never getting married. When Nessa married Mikolaj, I told her to take our grandmotherโ€™s ring. It was supposed to go to me, as the eldest daughter. But I donโ€™t expect to ever use it.

I know nowadays people think they get married as equals. But when it comes down to it, someoneโ€™s career and someoneโ€™s goals have to come first. If one of you gets a job offer in New York and the other in LA, how do you pick where to go?

Selfishness is a recipe for divorce. Iโ€™m just going to skip all those middle steps and stay single all along. I like my own company. I like my own life.

Or at least I did before that diver came and fucked it all up. โ€œWhat?โ€ Raylan says.

โ€œWhat yourself?โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re frowning,โ€ he tells me.

โ€œI was just . . . Iโ€™m sorry about waking you up,โ€ I say, not meeting his eyes.

โ€œHey.โ€ Raylan sets down his fork and puts his hand over mine. Itโ€™s heavy and warm. It reminds me how warm his arms were last night. His hand sends that same gentle calm through my body. โ€œYou donโ€™t have to be tough all the time, you know. Itโ€™s okay if something like that affected you . . . โ€

I pull my hand back, pushing my chair away from the table and standing up. โ€œIโ€™m fine,โ€ I tell him firmly. โ€œTotally fine.โ€

Raylan keeps eating his food, obviously determined to finish the whole plate.

Actually, I think heโ€™s eating every last bite just to annoy me. Iโ€™m standing there practically tapping my foot, wanting to get going.

โ€œWhatโ€™s your rush?โ€ he says to me. โ€œI have a lot of work to do today.โ€ โ€œItโ€™s Saturday.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m in the middle of a huge project.โ€

โ€œThink thatโ€™ll secure the partner position?โ€ Raylan asks, forking up his last bite of hash.

I flush. โ€œYes, actually,โ€ I say.

โ€œIsnโ€™t it kind of a given?โ€ Raylan says. โ€œSince your nameโ€™s already on the door?โ€

โ€œNo, it isnโ€™t,โ€ I snap. โ€œBut thatโ€™s exactly what people think. Which is why I have work harder and stay later than anyone. Because otherwise, no matter how smart I am, no matter how much business I bring in, everyone assumes that I got where I am because my last name is Griffin, and no other reason.โ€

โ€œAlright, alright,โ€ Raylan says, holding up his hands in surrender. โ€œLemme wash these dishes and then Iโ€™ll take you over to your parentsโ€™ house.โ€

He clears off the kitchen table, then stacks all the dishes in the sink and fills it up with hot, soapy water. Quickly and efficiently he reverses what appeared to be an insurmountable mess in the kitchen. In less than ten minutes, every dish is wash, dried, and put back exactly where he found it, and the countertops and stove have been restored to their former sparkling state. He even folded and re-hung the dishtowel.

โ€œDoes that meet with your satisfaction, Sergeant?โ€ he asks me, a gleam of amusement in his bright blue eyes.

Sometimes I get the uncomfortable feeling that Raylan can read every thought in my head.

โ€œYes,โ€ I say primly. โ€œBack to normal.โ€

I grab my briefcase, heavy with all the files I brought home for the weekend.

I stole that stack of purchase agreements back off Joshโ€™s desk. Just as I suspected, he hadnโ€™t even touched them yet. Heย isย a lazy shit. If he spent less time spying and schmoozing, and more time working, he might actually have had a shot at the partner position.

I know Uncle Oran said to let Josh do it, but I already started on the purchase agreements, and we need them finished before we can move into Phase Two of the South Shore Project. Thatโ€™s my familyโ€™s number one priority right now, and the Gallosโ€™ too. Weโ€™ve sunk everything we have into it. I canโ€™t risk an idiot like Josh fucking it up.

 

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