by W Winters
“You’re being an asshole. An even bigger one than usual.”
“Be gentle,” I hear Jase say quietly as he shuts the front door, hiding the last bit of light from the day and leaving us with the sound of his trailing footsteps. Part of me wonders if he’s talking to me or to Carter.
“I’m sorry,” Carter says through clenched teeth, almost like those words weren’t meant to come from him in this moment. He shifts his weight from his left to his right and looks down at me with a look that elicits both fear and that dark desire I can’t deny.
A rumble of low irritation settles in his chest as he tells me, “Mind the way you speak to me.”
“You should do the same,” I bite back without thinking. But it’s true. His eyes flash with anger, but he doesn’t speak. His jaw is held firm and I bet if he were to clench his teeth any tighter, they’d break. “You treat me like a child,” I tell him and then swallow thickly, feeling the knotted ball grow tighter in my throat. “You don’t want me near you, you don’t talk to me. And last night…” I can’t finish because again I feel like I’m going to cry, and I swear I’m not going to. Not here.
He doesn’t let me love him. But it’s because I’m his whore. I already know that’s the answer. It’s why he didn’t kiss me for as long as he did. I’m meant to be his whore and nothing more.
A moment passes where I’m just breathing. Staring into the eyes of a man who can make me feel so much, but right now it all hurts. I want him to hold me and let me hold him back. I want to slap him and tell him he’s an asshole and that I hate him. I want him to tell me that he loves me, and he doesn’t think of me like I think he does.
In a matter of seconds, I go through a fantasy where everything will be okay.
“Give me your hand,” Carter commands me. I jut out my chin, hellbent on telling him to fuck off, but he has a pull over me. The depth of pain in the hollows of his dark eyes makes me bend to his will. Slowly, I bring my hand up for him to take it. Even if I am just his whore, obeying his command.
I watch as he presses my hand to his phone, flattening it and then turns his back on me, walking to a panel by the front door.
I can feel my eyebrows pinch together.
Carter already said he’s sorry once. I doubt he’ll say it again. At this point, I don’t even know what I want him to say. His words aren’t the problem, it’s his actions.
“If you’re going back outside, grab a coat.” His words are stern but there’s a trace of melancholy there. Press your hand here, he demonstrates. He gave me access. My heart flickers to life, and I hate that it does. It’s the things like this that make me question what I am to him.
“I wasn’t going back out tonight,” I tell him weakly. Wanting more from him, but not knowing how much to push him. My eyes dart from his to the door. Carter’s a hard man and maybe he’s had a hard life, but I need more than what he gave me last night and today.
I don’t know if I’m in a position to ask for it, to demand it, or if Carter is even capable of giving me more than this. And if he goes through with his plans, all of this is for naught.
“Well, whenever you do,” Carter tells me but when my eyes reach his, he moves his attention back to his phone.
I glance down at what he’s doing only to find him exit whatever it was and that’s when I see today’s date.
And that’s when this little truce no longer matters.
Nothing matters.
Chapter 45
Carter
The more I give her, the less I have her.
The moment I let her have access to outside, she stormed away from me. Not with the anger I expected given her outburst, but with a heartache that’s inexplicable.
The color drained from her face and she ran from me. Literally ran away from me and straight to the white room. She ignored me when I called out to her and tried to muffle her cries.
Everything shattered in front of me. There was no sign, no warning.
It’s my fault; she wasn’t ready. I can’t push her to move faster when the final deed has yet to be done.
That’s the only thing I can think of that would make her run from me like she did.
Her door is locked, a feature I considered excluding, but I know I could knock it down if I needed to.
I haven’t moved my eyes from the monitor on my phone but watching her cry hysterically on the floor was brutal. It was fucking torture.
It’s been nearly an hour since she’s stopped, but she hasn’t moved from the floor. Sitting cross-legged and picking at her nails, she’s just sitting there, rocking on and off, humming and crying. The only saving grace I have is that my necklace is still around her neck. She hasn’t taken it off since I put it on her.
I told you to be gentle, Jase’s text message interrupts the feed and I click over to it. He’s the only reason I haven’t lost my shit. Although I’m on the verge of ripping the door off the hinges of that room and demanding she tell me what set her off.
I fucking was. I quickly text him my reply and then add, How much time has to pass before I can go in there?
You can’t. He answers immediately and even though a part of me knows he’s right, a bigger part of me knows she needs me. She needs someone, and I want to be that someone.
What if we side with Talvery? Over Romano? I’m grasping at straws just to keep her.
It will be a sign of weakness. Jase’s response is swift, and the next question is quick to come to my mind. I know no one will understand or respect why I’d allow Talvery to live. Not unless it’s clear why. And undeniable.
What if I married her? I type the words, but I can’t send them. The thought of her as mine truly, in every way, sends a thread of hope passing before my reach. So close, and so delicate, just like the necklace around her neck. And I think maybe she’d do it. She’d agree if I agreed to spare her family.
But being a wife to a monster only makes her vulnerable. The hope dies as quickly as the flame of a fire only meant to have an ember.
She’s not feared, not respected. My enemies would kill her the first chance they got, just to hurt me. I know they would. Just as they tried to take Addison from Daniel.
Jase sends me another text. She needs to tell you what happened.
He’s right. I need something to fix. Some way to control what went wrong.
If it’s her family, you’re fucked. Jase texts me again before I can text him back and I almost fling the phone at the wall when it shows on my screen. Instead, I flick to her monitor, but she’s not there.
She’s gone.
Just as I abruptly stand up, ready to hunt her down wherever she’s gone off to, I hear her walking down the hall and slowly she comes into view.
Adrenaline spikes through me and I try to stay still. Because if I move, she might change her mind. She might go back to that fucking room, but I can’t let her. I swear to God, I can’t let her.
She enters the bedroom with bloodshot eyes, the hair on the side of her face damp from her tears and her face reddened. Fuck, I’ve never felt pain like this. Even in the cell, she didn’t cry like this. She’s never cried like this.
It’s as if she’s mourning.
I can barely breathe, but I swallow the pain down as she steps into the room, refusing to look at me and then glancing at the bathroom.
“There’s no bathroom in the other room. The hideaway room,” she says, and her words are roughly spoken, but she doesn’t cry.
“Come here.” The command is soft, an attempt to comfort her. I know she likes being held and I can do that.
I can hold her better than anyone else can.
She walks numbly and when I wrap my arms around her, she doesn’t react. She doesn’t hold me or lean in. She doesn’t stiffen either. She’s just there. Her entire body feels frozen under my touch and I instantly pick her up, cradling her in my arms to put her into bed, to force her to rest and lie down with me. Everything will be all right in the morning.
But the second I take
a step toward the bed, Aria jolts and slams her palms into my chest, kicking at the same time and deliberately falling out of my arms and crashing onto the floor.
“Fuck,” I grunt out and reach down to help her up, but she scampers backward, crawling away from me before standing up again and facing me like a caged animal intent on running.
A thousand shards slice into every bit of me. Into my numb skin, making their way inside my blood and up my throat.
“Aria, tell me what’s wrong,” I demand but she only shakes her head, pushing her hair away and then rubbing her hand against her tearstained cheek.
“You already know what’s wrong,” she says woefully, and I know I’ve failed her.
“You’ll forgive me,” I speak lowly, my hands clenching into fists.
Her eyes reach mine and they gloss over as she whimpers, “I know.” She sniffles once and turns to go to the bathroom, but I can’t let her.
“Tell me something,” I say, raising my voice but she stops and then slowly turns. “Ask me anything,” I add.
A moment passes where she only sways in the knee-length sleepshirt she’s changed into. She almost says something twice, but in the end, she only shakes her head.
Finally, she asks me something I hate, but I know I deserve.
“Will I ever be allowed to leave?” Her question reflects her hopelessness.
“Yes.” I want to tell her more, that I’ll take her wherever she wants to go, but I’m afraid if I speak too much, she’ll break down again. Every word has to be spoken carefully.
“When?” she asks.
“After the war is over,” I tell her firmly. “There’s no exception to that.”
“And when will that happen?” Her words are small, nearly insignificant, reflecting exactly how she must feel.
“Soon.” I try to be short, not wanting to hurt her any more than she already is, but also not wanting to lie.
“I would like to at least say goodbye,” she whimpers and her voice cracks.
“He knows where you are. If he wanted to say goodbye, he could.”
“He knows I’m here?” The shock in her voice is unexpected and I feel like a prick. She’s going to have the same reaction she did yesterday when she learned I had someone spying on her.
“Yes.” I swallow thickly, but at least she’s talking to me.
“And he hasn’t come for me?” she asks with such sadness, but it only enrages me. Doesn’t she know the man her father really is? He wouldn’t risk his life for anyone. Not a damn soul. “How long?” She visibly swallows and hardens her voice as she asks, “How long has he known?”
“Since the dinner,” I tell her and then count the days. “Four days.”
Aria’s face crumples and she covers her mouth with her hand, looking impossibly more dejected somehow.
“When you’re at war, you eviscerate them first. I’m sure he has plans…” I want to lie to her, to tell her he has plans to get her after he’s killed me. But I don’t believe it. Talvery would bomb our estate, killing her with me, if he thought he could get away with it.
“Where does that leave me?” Aria asks in a weak whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going to eviscerate the Talverys… where does that leave me?” she asks with surprising strength and tenacity.
“You belong to me.” It’s the only answer to that question. And the truth she already knows. She’s already accepted it. I know she has.
“What would you do if I told you no? That I don’t want you?” She steadies her breathing as best as she can and straightens her back. “That I don’t want to be your whore anymore?”
“I would know you were lying. And you’re not my whore.” My heart pounds accompanied by a prickling along my skin.
I expect her to come back with some quip asking what she is to me then. But she doesn’t. Instead, she tries to destroy what little goodness she’s given me.
“What if things changed, and I didn’t want you at all?” she asks me with each word clear and just as sharp as the knife it feels like.
“Why would you? Why would you lie?” I dare her to tell me it’s the truth. That she doesn’t want me anymore.
“You would have sent me back after the bath if I’d said ‘no,’ wouldn’t you?” she asks me and I have to take a minute to realize what she’s even referring to.
“Our first night? You didn’t sleep with me because you wanted to stay out of the cell,” I practically spit the words out of my mouth, brimming with outrage. “You didn’t even know you weren’t going back.” My voice rises and I feel it scrape up my throat. “Your heels dug into my ass that night, spurring me on. You fucked me because you wanted me.” I emphasize each word, taking a steady and dominating step closer to her with each one until I’m so close to her, I can feel the tension radiating from her. “You wanted to know what it would feel like to have my cock inside of you.” Lowering my lips to hers I whisper, “Or am I wrong?”
She stares into my eyes and I stare into hers. The mix of greens and blues and golds are vibrant and alive amongst the shards of blotchy red and white.
“Did you want it or not?” I harden my question just as my gut twists with disgust and I start to question if she never wanted me at all. If I was so fucking obsessed with her that I was wrong all this time.
“Yes, I wanted you!” she screams at me although her last word crumbles before it leaves her lips. “And I shouldn’t still want you.” She doesn’t hide the pain when she tells me, “I should hate you.”
Relief, sweet relief, is short and minuscule, but there’s so much relief in her admission.
“Why’s that?” I ask her softly, wanting her to keep going. To work through this because, in weeks, this fight will be meaningless. She’ll forgive me. She already knows she will.
“Because you’re going to kill my family and everyone I love. That’s why.” The fight leaves her with the last sentence.
“Yes.” I keep my voice strong, although I don’t know how. “I am.”
“Please don’t,” she whispers her plea and I wish I’d already done it. I wish I’d already shot the bastard, so she would stop this.
“Is your father a good man?” I ask her, knowing this is going to hurt her, but she’s already so low, there’s not much lower a little more truth can take her. “Do you think the men who protect him deserve to live long enough so they can try to kill me?”
“They won’t,” she tries to tell me, shaking her head vigorously and reaching out to take my hand with both of hers but I rip it away. I won’t let her beg for his life.
“They’ve already tried,” I say, and my nostrils flare as I tell her. “Right after his drug addicts killed my father. They murdered him for forty dollars and a bag of pills.” I remember how my father looked on the metal table in the morgue. How his knuckles were bruised from fighting back.
“And your father was pissed that I dared step onto his turf to kill them. To get revenge. He protected them!” I scream at her and wish I hadn’t. Tears flood from her again and she gasps for air. “Your father sent four men to our house. Our rundown, piece of shit house. The house my mother died in. The house you love so much.” I can’t help but sneer at the thought. “We weren’t there. Thank fuck we weren’t there.”
She’s barely breathing through her hands that are covering her face as if they can shield her from the hard truth as I tell her, “He had them burn it down with incendiaries. I should have killed him then, but I couldn’t get to him. I sure as fuck can get to him now.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpers, and tries to calm herself down. And I almost reach for her, to hold her, because I want to. Right now I need to hold her too. But then she speaks.
“Things have changed,” she offers weakly, wiping the tears from her eyes although they don’t stop flowing.
“How can you still defend him? After all this?” The pain won’t fucking stop. I’m bleeding out the pain.
“The odds of me allowi
ng your father to live are slim to none. Even if I want you to be happy, you know why he has to die. I bet you even think he deserves it,” I tell her. “A small part of you has to think he deserves it.”
“You said you’ll kill them all, but all of them don’t deserve it,” she continues to plead with me, not offering me any comfort as I try not to break down remembering the soot and ash that stood in place of the home I’d grown up in. “It’s not just my father who will die. Nikolai was my only friend. And my family will stand with my father. You can’t kill everyone I’ve ever loved.”
“If they stand against me, they deserve to die.”
“Not all of them-”
“Like who? Nikolai,” I sneer his name with disdain and she flinches.
“Please?” she begs me, but the loss is already clear in her eyes.
I turn my back on her, feeling lonelier than I’ve felt since she came into this house as I say, “You can make new friends.”
Chapter 46
Aria
It’s my birthday, but it wasn’t until I saw Carter’s phone that I knew what the date was.
No one here knows it’s my birthday; why would they? They also don’t know that yesterday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. The day before my birthday.
And for the first time, I didn’t go to her grave.
I start to cry again, and I don’t know if I’m crying for my mother, for my family, or for Carter and the boy he used to be. I could cry forever, and it wouldn’t be enough for the tragedy our families combined have suffered.
My back leans against the wall of the bathroom. To my left, the door is shut and in front of me, the shower is running to drown out the sounds of me crying. I wanted a shower to wash it all away. A hot, scalding shower.
Instead, I’m crouched on the floor by the door. I can barely stand, I’m so lightheaded and exhausted. I don’t trust myself in the shower. I don’t trust myself or anyone else anymore.