Ruin (The Rhodes Book 1)

by Rina Kent

  I pause, my gaze wanders to hers. Tears flood Mae’s cheeks. Her lips tremble, causing her teeth to chatter.

  “H-he... he... w-wanted... to... ” Her voice breaks as more tears gush out, seeming to flow from the recess of her soul.

  “You don’t need to talk about it.” What the hell should I do? Except for burning Hampton’s corpse to ashes, I’m out of options.

  Mae sits up, and before I realise what’s going on, she wraps her arms around my waist and buries her head in my chest. The warmth of her tears seeps through my shirt.

  “T-thank you for k-killing him.”

  Fucking hell.

  She’s the first person who ever thanked me for killing someone.

  It’s...euphoric.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mae

  Blankness washes over me like a calm wave rinsing the sand. The wave soon turns into an enraged fury, colliding with my psyche like crashing into a rocky shore.

  It isn’t enough to smother the fire inside me.

  It hurts. Breathing hurts. The soft material underneath me hurts. The air on my skin hurts. The guttural sound of my sobs hurts. My chaotic mind hurts. But my chest, my chest hurts the worst. It’s breaking brick by brick.

  I can scarcely register the raw, strangled cries as my own. Their sheer force constricts my throat and trembles my body. I tighten my arms around my anchor, face nuzzling further into the soft material. My tears and a cedar scent saturate my face, and I cling to them with all my might. They’re fragments of a much-needed reality.

  A strong arm wraps around me. Warmth erupts in my chest. It’s not burning. No. It’s more... soothing. It allows me to breathe between my gasps.

  My mind is so warped to analyse the identity of who holds me. So I cling to him with no thoughts.

  I don’t know how long I sob into his chest. He sits there, one unmoving arm around my waist in a tight hold.

  “Sleep, little bird.” His soft, deep voice rings in my ear. “Just sleep.”

  Slowly, my gasps turn into sighs and my hiccoughs fade to the background. My lids flutter close.

  As if he’s cast a spell over me, sleep whisks me away.

  . . . . .

  A pounding in my skull wakes me up. I groan as my hands fly to the side of my head in a fruitless attempt to stop the assault.

  No covers. I sit up in bed and glance at my lap. Cotton underwear. I wince. Who undressed me, again?

  I shake my head, which makes the headache worse. My hand moves to the night table.

  Please let there be painkillers.

  My arm is suspended mid-air when a shadow appears at the corner of the room. Before I can identify the shape, it dashes towards me. Its speed sends slicing razors to my heart.

  God. Please no, no, no...

  I propel my legs to move but they’re frozen as if shackled to the bed. The shadow hovers over me. I scream. No sound comes out.

  “Aaron!” I feel my mouth forming his name, but there’s no sound. There’s nothing. The room is a bottomless black. There’s nothing. The face of the man over me is lines of grey. There’s nothing but disgusting cigar smell gagging my nostrils.

  I scream again. This time, the sound is so loud, I jolt into a sitting position. My tortured breaths are the only sound in the room. Not my room. A black-and-grey-decorated room. My booming heart rate slows down a little when my brain catches up with reality.

  It was only a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

  But even that thought doesn’t contain the tears. They soak my cheeks, leaving hot lines in their wake. I wipe them with the back of my hand. Instead of my skin, a soft cloth, dangling from my hand, takes care of the matter.

  I look down at myself and I’m glad to find my body clothed in cotton trousers and a T-shirt. I inhale its familiar cedar scent. A mysterious serenity washes over me.

  Air comes into my lungs with steady speed. That’s all it takes for rotten memories to slam at my brain like a nuclear bomb. A man. Rancid cigar smell. Beating. Punching. Pain. Lots of pain. More pain. Then... nothing. Dead.

  Am I dead?

  Another distinct memory rushes in. Aaron. Blood. Lots of blood. The man’s blood.

  I gasp. Oh. My. God.

  Aaron killed him. And the worst part is that I thanked him for it.

  Vomit fills my mouth, and I stumble out of bed. My aching body protests at the sudden movement. Jolt of pain shoot through my limbs. I almost fall down, but still continue my run to the door to my right. I fall to my knees before the toilet and empty the contents of my stomach in a few spurts.

  My eyes drop to the shower. I have to lean on the wall to stand up.

  I slide to the shower’s floor. The urgent itch to scrub my skin is greater than anything I’ve ever wanted in life.

  I’m dirty. I feel so damn dirty. As if I was thrown into the mud for years.

  With clumsy fingers, I remove my clothes. They rub on my wounds, but I don’t stop at the sparks of pain. I don’t stop when angry red marks appear against my skin. I don’t stop until I’m naked inside the glassy box.

  When icy cold water comes out, I slump underneath it, welcoming the freezing temperature. Only it does little to extinguish the fire within me.

  Not only Aaron is a murderer but I also thanked him for killing a man for me.

  I. Thanked. Him.

  This can’t be happening. This isn’t me. Even if that bastard hurt me, was death the appropriate punishment?

  Yes. At that moment— and God help me, even now— I think the man deserved it. He deserved every single twist of Aaron’s knife.

  Oh. God. I’m turning into a hideous monster. I was in contact with The Devil for so long that I picked up his habits.

  Stop thinking. Stop thinking.

  There’s so much to wrap my mind around. At this moment, I’m not strong enough to do it. I don’t want to do it. So I sit under the icy stream, allowing its low temperature to freeze my thoughts.

  I crawl out of the shower when I lose feel of my skin. At least I’m not so dirty anymore.

  I swipe a towel on my way out and wrap my body in it, getting much needed temperature back into my limbs. My eyes close as I pass the mirror in the bathroom. I don’t want to see the ghost-like monster that will probably stare me back.

  Slumping on the large bed, coldness dissipates little by little. With its disappearance, an unwelcome wave of chaotic emotions rushes into the back of my consciousness.

  My gaze darts around the room. If only I can find something to use as distraction. Black leather sofa and chairs. Dark grey walls. A large black table. Grey curtains. An endless mixture of black and grey. No life whatsoever. Beside the light, there’s nothing that illuminates this room. My hand extends to the nightstand to fetch a remote control. TV would be nice.

  There’s no monitor in sight. I press the power button nonetheless. A screen lights up at the far end of the room.

  That was a monitor? I thought it was part of the wall.

  My hand swipes around the remote. All I have to do is find a film. They always cheered me up. Even if my current state isn’t exactly a minor case of stress.

  If only I could hug Mum and Dad. I need their calming words more than any time. Dad would bring me chocolate ice cream and tell me everything will be all right. Mum would tell me stories of how she handles situations and urges me to find solutions of my own. They will both hug me and tell me how much they love me.

  Tears roll down my cheeks at those memories. Almost knocking me back into pathetic hysteria.

  Stop, Mae. Don’t go there.<
br />
  I wipe at my face, and focus on the monitor. I won’t fall that easily. I won’t.

  The image that greets me isn’t a channel. It’s a split screen. Two different videos play at the same time. The first is an empty entrance of a mansion. Nothing but a lit grey stony pathway in sight. Everything else collapses in darkness. The second video feed is what draws my attention. It’s the lavish hall I travelled through when I first left the dungeons. Aaron and many other men dressed in black stand in the centre of it. Only two men are wearing refined tuxedos. My gaze squints. Is that Aaron’s brother? All the others are either in business suits or in black T-shirts and trousers. Aaron changed into dark blue trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  I reach for the remote and click on the video. The hall extends on the whole screen. With it comes the sound of their conversation.

  Aaron swings his fist and connects it with a man’s face in an Italian suit. I barely register the crunch before another blow sends the man staggering backwards.

  I gasp. What is this?

  “You only had one fucking job!” Aaron jabs his fist in the man’s stomach. Mine twists again as if wanting to vomit my intestines. “Was it that hard to find Celeste?”

  Who’s Celeste? Who are all these people? Why are they standing still as Aaron beats the hell out of that man?

  Another punch, straight to the man’s nose. This time, blood trickles down the man’s square jawline. “I told you to fight back!”

  Aaron delivers one last blow before he’s yanked back by his brother. “Enough. This wasn’t Xan’s fault.”

  Aaron confronts his brother, his expression is beyond the camera’s angle. “Because it’s yours. We wouldn’t have been in this mess if you didn’t invite Hampton.”

  His voice is deep in a harsh, scary way. Anyone would’ve cowered back at such a threatening, authoritative voice. But Aaron’s brother doesn’t even flinch. He holds his gaze with a neutral expression.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Aaron’s brother says in a curt tone. “How would I know he came to kill you?”

  Who came to kill Aaron? The man who beat me? He did say something about ruining ‘that fucker’. Was I used in this? Did he have an agenda against Aaron and I was a pawn in their little game?

  The burning that I’ve been trying to ignore all this time fires up in my chest. How dare they hurt me for their sick agendas?

  “What’s done is done.” The third man in a tuxedo steps closer to Aaron and his brother. His eyes are steel grey, no, they’re green. A mixture of grey and green? His voice is even more polite than Aaron’s in his best states. “It’s useless to ponder on what happened. What we need right now is an appropriate plan to deal with the collateral damage.” He pauses, glancing between Aaron and his brother. “Everyone knows that the last place where Hampton has been seen alive is our banquet. What are our options?”

  Banquet. Tuxedos. All those men. The most menacing three are talking about death and violence as if it’s a daily occurrence. Are they nobles or the mafia wrapped in refined aristocracy?

  Aaron sits on a sofa, at the side of the camera, his expression blank. “There’s only one option. Since Tristan is the one who screwed this up, then he needs to take care of the mess on his own.” He points a finger at his brother. “Call your favours, judges, politicians, or whoever you deem worthy to cover this. I killed Hampton because I had to. He was in my quarters.”

  So this Hampton man is dead. The horror film episode I witnessed wasn’t a play of my imagination. Aaron is a killer. And judging from the way he handled those knives, he’s a skilled killer.

  Oh. God. I’ve really been kidnapped by a serial killer.

  Assuming is entirely different from witnessing the act. It was too visceral. Too real. Too...twisted.

  Aaron’s monstrous nature is undeniable. I don’t know why I had the foolish hope that my prejudices would be wrong.

  I had to be punched in the face— literally— to see his raw ugly nature.

  My attention turns back to Tristan as he releases a long breath. “Fine. I’ll take care of it in my own way.”

  “And Celeste?” The polite man asks Aaron, his voice not so polite anymore. “Why didn’t you let Xan capture her when you had the chance? You were playing one of your sick games with her, weren’t you?”

  Something ticks in Aaron’s jaw, but he ignores him, stands, and marches to the men lined by the door. Kane and the beaten up man stand in front of them all, as if he didn’t just serve as Aaron’s punching bag. All the other men line behind them.

  Aaron’s voice is deep and commanding, leaving no place for negotiations. “Here’s how it goes, from now on, no one but Dylan is allowed inside the estate. Tristan and I will choose our security team and the rest is to stay within the perimeter of the estate until it’s decided otherwise. If you meet a strange woman and decide it’s a good idea to fuck her, that’s Celeste. If any of you actually fuck her, I will finish your lives with my own hands.” He pauses, his merciless gaze roam the little army. “Is that understood?”

  I’m almost deafened by the thundering, “Yes, Sir!”

  “Isn’t that too much?” Tristan asks from behind him.

  Aaron throws a glance his way. “You don’t know Celeste as much as I do.”

  Just who the hell is this Celeste that someone like Aaron gives her such importance?

  Aaron cocks his head to a large double door. “Now, leave.” The men in black exit the hall in monotonic ordered military style. He turns to Tristan and Dylan. “Which part of leave do you not understand?”

  Dylan settles on a chair and crosses his legs at the ankles. “How did Hampton got the password to your quarters?”

  Tristan sits next to Dylan and says, “There has been a hack in the system.”

  Although Aaron’s features remain expressionless, there’s a cloud that cloaks his features when he mutters, “Celeste must’ve helped him. A way to get back at me since I refused to be her partner again.”

  Shivering takes hold of me. No idea whether it’s because of the cold or what I’ve witnessed. My attention drifts away from the conversation, concentrating on my shivering.

  What’s my fault in all this? Why does this have to happen to me?

  I’m acutely aware of the door clicking open then close, but I don’t lift my head until a soft material is thrown on my chest.

  “Unless you wish for pneumonia, dry yourself.” Aaron’s expression is neutral, there’s nothing of the rage he unleashed on the men not so long ago. He fetches the remote from my icy fingers, and shuts the security feed off. “This is the last time I will forgive snooping into my affairs.”

  Fire replaces my coldness, and I jump to my feet. I stomp to Aaron and point a tense finger at his chest. “It’s all because of you! You’re the reason I’m in this...this...” I point to myself, heat flooding my cheeks, “Mess! If I didn’t meet you, if you didn’t stalk me, I wouldn’t have that atrocious fantasy. If you didn’t take me, none of this would’ve happened. If...” my voice croaks and a loud sob escapes my lips, “If ...” Words scratch in my throat, yearning to get out. My mouth opens, but only sobs erupt through.

  A firm hand encircles my back. His palm warm against my bare skin.

  My body tingles, but my mind orders me to shove him away. I plant both my hands on his hard chest to obey my mind. Yet, my fingers curl in the soft material of his shirt, clutching it so tight, my fingertips sting.

  “I am sorry, Mae.” Aaron’s soft voice comes like a little breeze, its unusual sleekness soothes the chaos.

  I will never forgive him.

  My mind knows that I won’t. Yet, my body, my stupid trait
orous body, snuggles into his embrace, refusing to let go.

  I’m officially going mad.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Aaron

  Twenty-one years ago,

  “Do you want to tell me anything, Aaron?”

  I shake my head at Uncle Alexander and tug on the reins of my mare. It snorts, hoofing in the grass, refusing to keep up with Uncle’s horse. I pull harder, willing to strangle the idiotic thing. How dare it disobey me? I’ll have it killed.

  “Steady, Aaron.” Uncle’s calm voice causes me to pause. “Pull slowly. Relationships with animals need patience. And unlike people, they’re loyal to the bone.”

  I don’t have the patience Uncle is talking about. None in the least.

  With a gentle tug on the reins, Uncle propels my mare into a slow walk. Knight, King, and Zen follow us while clawing at each other, their little paws barely doing any damage. I smile when they roll on the grass, dirtying their shiny black fur. They’re my playmates whenever Uncle isn’t around.

  Humid air swallows us as we dive further between the trees. The far end of the estate has been mine and Uncle’s favourite place to ride. Other than the occasional chirps and the jaguars’ purrs, it’s calm. Like all our early morning strolls.

  Uncle’s eyes are soft. Their colour is as shiny as our jaguars. Nothing like Father’s dead ones. “It’s been a year since your aunt Ariel’s death. Do you plan to remain silent forever?”

  A shadow appears at Uncle’s back and wraps transparent fingers around his neck. A snicker plays at Aunt’s thin lips which are painted in dark brown. She’s still in the same white summer dress, wearing the same dark lipstick. Her head intact. She never left me ever since the day she shot herself.

  “Aaron?” Uncle glances behind him which tightens her hold on his neck. “What are you looking at?”

  I shake my head. Nothing.

  “Talk to me, son.” His tone is so different from Father’s. So tender. So emotional. So... alive.