The Sabrina Vaughn Series Books 3-4
Promises to Keep, Blood of Saints
Maegan Beaumont
Copyright © 2015, 2016 by Maegan Beaumont.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by Severn River Publishing.
Contents
Promises to Keep
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Blood of Saints
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Also by Maegan Beaumont
Thanks for Reading
Next in Series
WAITING IN DARKNESS: Chapter 1
WAITING IN DARKNESS: Chapter 2
WAITING IN DARKNESS: Chapter 3
WAITING IN DARKNESS: Chapter 4
Read Waiting in Darkness
About the Author
Promises to Keep
A Sabrina Vaughn Novel
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
~ Robert Frost
1
Cofre del Tesoro, Columbia
December ~ 2007
There was blood on Michael’s boot.
Not a lot—just a drop or two—but it bothered him. He licked the pad of his thumb and rubbed.
Should’ve bought the black pair…
“I’m sorry—am I boring you?”
Looking up, he found Alberto Reyes staring at him from behind his desk with the small, glittering eyes of a snake.
He shrugged and kept rubbing. Reyes continued to stare. After a few moments the spot came clean and he dropped his foot to the floor, giving the man his full attention.
“As I was saying… I’m a fan of your work, Cartero. I find your brutality quite beautiful.” Reyes studied the pictures he had fanned across his desk as if he were trying to choose his favorite among them. He picked one up and held it close to his face, tilting his head to the side. “Your knife work is exceptional—absolutely no hesitation, just… exquisite.” Reyes placed the photo on top of the pile and got back to watching him. Michael folded his arms across his chest and made himself smile.
“I don’t get paid to hesitate, Reyes. I get paid to deliver messages and I’ve delivered yours, so…” He stood, pinned the smaller man with a look that said he’d rather not discuss his knife skills.
“Ah, yes—so, you have,” Reyes said. He opened a side drawer on his massive desk and pulled out a large manila envelope. It bulged from all sides—its contents barely leaving room to seal it. “Your payment, as agreed.” Reyes placed it on the desk and his han
ds on top of it, barring him from taking it. “But first, I have a matter I’d like to discuss…”
Michael stifled an eye roll and stood. Taking a trip to the window, he looked out across the compound. The helicopter that had brought him here sat on its pad waiting to take him back to the mainland. A small fleet of speed boats bobbed along the surface of the distant ocean. Beyond them, a long stretch of white sand seemed to mold itself to the water’s edge.
He’d never been to the beach in anything but fatigues. Never lay in the sand without his eye pressed to a scope, finger resting on the trigger. He felt the weight of the life he'd chosen pressing down on him. Rooting him in place.
He dug his hands into the pockets of his fatigues, brushing a finger across the photograph he kept there and took a few deep breaths. He missed his parents. He missed his sister… but his parents were long dead, and Frankie? Well, she was better off without him.
Thinking of the man behind him, Michael let go of the picture. Alberto Reyes always had a matter to discuss, business to conduct. A year ago he’d been nothing more than a lieutenant in his cousin's cartel. It was his single-mindedness that allowed him to climb to the top of Columbia’s drug trade in a matter of months. That and the fact that Reyes had hired him to kill every rival he had. Starting with his own cousin. The one kill Michael would’ve made for free.
“I don’t think there’s anyone left, Reyes. Pretty sure I killed ‘em all.”
“So you have.” Reyes chuckled. “I admire your work ethic, Cartero—so few of our generation understand the dedication required to not only obtain power, but to keep it.” Reyes stood and joined him at the window.
“I don’t want power.” He wanted his money so he could get the hell out of here.
“Any other man I’d call a liar, but you… you, I believe.” Reyes wagged a finger at him. “I take pride in finding a man’s weaknesses. Yours are few and far between. Your fees are outrageous but I’ve seen the way you live. You care little for money. You kill for drug dealers but abhor drugs. You take women, but never the same one more than a few times so no attachment is ever made...”
He thought of Reyes’ cousin, Mateo Moreno. His blood and brain sprayed across the courthouse steps. The kick of his rifle against his shoulder a split second after he’d taken the shot. “I got what I wanted.”
“Revenge is a powerful motivator but for a man like you… killing my cousin was more of a need than an actual want. You needed to kill Mateo—to put right what he’d done to the Ramos woman and your brethren. Your wants are much... softer.”
Michael could practically see the forked tongue, peeking out from behind his teeth. “Is that so?” he said, a trace of east Texas creeping into his drawl. “Right now, what I’m wanting… it don’t feel too soft.”
Reyes laughed. “This is why I like you, Cartero. You have no fear. I made a study of you—what you wanted. It became an obsession of sorts.” Reyes smiled like they were friends. “I almost gave up... but then, I realized that it isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you can’t have.”
For some reason, his thoughts turned toward the photograph in his pocket. The baby sister he’d probably never see again. Frankie.
“I want you to work for me. Exclusively.”
Michael’s hands curled into fists. He was like a cheerleader with too many dates to the prom. They all wanted exclusivity. To keep him as a pet. “No thanks… I’m a free spirit.”
Reyes laughed again, clapped him on the shoulder like they were lifelong friends. “But aren’t you curious? You don’t even know what I have in mind for you.”
He’d heard it all before—Come, be my personal sicario. Stand at my right hand and slit the throats of my enemies… blah, blah, blah… he shrugged and returned his attention to the faraway ocean. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t do exclusive.”
“I want you to protect my daughter, Christina.”
He turned his face from the window. “Excuse me?”
Reyes’ handsome face split in a grin reserved for putting people at ease. He’d seen him use it on rivals and underlings—usually right before he had them fitted for a Columbian necktie. “This is a dangerous life, my friend—one I’ve chosen, but my Christina is innocent in all this. She has no choice. I would never be able to live with myself if the decisions I’ve made caused her death.”
Reyes was saying the right things, making the appropriate gestures of concern for his only daughter but Michael didn’t buy it for a second. Reyes cared for no one but himself. Providing for his daughter’s safety was a means to an end—nothing more.
“So you hire an assassin to play babysitter?” He eased his shoulder from beneath Reyes’ hand. Well, aren’t you Ward friggin’ Cleaver…
“Who could be better? My business takes me away from home more often than I’d like. Those who would seek to harm her would never dare—not if it were El Cartero who guarded her,” Reyes said, leaning in and speaking softly. “You are the only thing they fear.”
He tipped his head toward the window, a nice try, asshole smile on his face. “You built this fortress on an island, fifty miles from the mainland. I think she’s safe.”
Just then, the study doors flung open and in ran a little girl, no more than four or five. She clamored at her father’s feet, black pigtails bouncing wildly in a jumble of corkscrew curls. The little girl climbed up Reyes’ leg and he lifted her into his arms, settling her against his side.
“Christina, what have I told you about barging into my office when I’m with friends?” He chided her gently but Michael had a feeling that it was all for show, an act.
The little girl looked confused. “Not to—but you said—”
“It is no matter. Since you are here, I’d like you to meet a friend. His name is Michael,” Reyes said, turning the girl in his arms so that he could get a good look at her. Chubby cheeks, framed by those riotous curls and a pair of chocolate brown eyes stared back at him. She reminded him of, Frankie… the Frankie he knew—not the one who’d grown up without him.
“I’m Christina.” The little girl held out her hand and he took it, gave it a gentle shake.
He looked past the girl, to her father who watched the exchange with the satisfied smile of someone who knew he’d won.
2
Barcelona, Spain
2015
Michael looked at the woman sitting next to him. Her name was Pia Cordova and he was going to kill her father.
“What’s the matter, baby?” Pia said in his ear, relying on proximity rather than volume to make herself heard over the frantic pulse of music that flooded the club’s VIP lounge. “Don’t you like me?” She gave the front of his shirt a light rake with her manicured nails. He imagined she was trying to turn him on but she was doing a piss-poor job of it. He made himself look at her, forced a leering smile onto his face. She was beautiful, in a bleach-blonde-fake-breast sort of way. The only child of one of Europe’s premier arms dealers; she’d have been his type a couple of years ago. Eager to please and easy to forget.
These days he’d rather stick his dick in a bear trap.
As it was, he could barely look at her, let alone do what came next. A sharp kick was delivered to the bottom of his foot. He shot a glare at his partner. Ben had a woman in his lap and his tongue down her throat and still managed to give him a hey, asshole—get with the program look. Time to nut up and do his job.
He leaned into Pia and smiled. “Like isn't really the word I'd use to describe how I'm feeling,” he said in heavily accented English. Nuzzling her neck, he pressed his lips to the tender spot behind her earlobe. “Let me get you a drink. Vodka?” he tilted his chin at her empty glass.