Ruin (The Rhodes Book 1)

by Rina Kent

  Here I am, back to her room at the early hours after spending a sleepless night. It’s impossible to fight the itch to be near her, to breathe her citrus scent, and see my reflection in her eyes.

  ‘And eventually kill her.’

  Go away.

  They don’t. Their voices echo in my head like a chant. Their mind eyes gape at Mae’s porcelain skin. Hypothetically ripping her apart. They dance to her screams and bathe in her blood.

  It disgusts me.

  The mere memory of her bloodied face sends my temper raging. I refuse to do something remotely similar. But with the persistent way the demons chant, it’s only a matter of time before I’m driven crazy. Where are the soft voices when I need them? Were they finally driven to their demise?

  ‘Are you going to fight us over some girl?’ Frost seeps into my veins at the shadow of Aunt Ariel’s voice. ‘Will you jeopardise your well-being for an insect?’

  You’re dead. Leave me alone, Aunt.

  ‘Not until you do the right thing. I didn’t sacrifice myself for you to become pathetic.’ I can almost see the scowl on her face— thankfully I don’t.

  A soft moan pulls me from the hypothetical war with my dead family members. Mae’s sleepy face morphs into a little smile as she sits up in bed. She tucks some of her rebel strands back. My fingers twitch to do the same.

  She’s so beautiful I yearn to devour her whole. In every bloody aspect.

  “Are we going horse riding?” she asks, voice joyful.

  I refrain from clearing my throat at being caught off guard. “No.”

  She releases an exasperated sigh. All the excitement washes away to leave place for a scowl. Witnessing her fast changeable facial expressions sends a curious sensation through my veins. It’s similar to the rush of hunting. If not more powerful.

  “It’s been five days since I’ve seen Silver and Jet.” Her voice has an edge to it. “I miss them.”

  I make a beckoning sign. “Come with me.”

  Mae narrows her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose, but the kitten in her asks, “Where?”

  With one last glance, I exit her room. She follows me, her steps are quiet. Careful. As if afraid I’m leading her to her hanging— which I should have done the day I met her. I wouldn’t be in this internal chaos if I’d finished her in the alley or the day after.

  All this mess clouding my head is a payment for my impulse to keep her. After all these years, I invited a weakness into my life.

  And now, I don’t know what to do about her.

  I open the door to the room she occupied before.

  “No.” Mae halts, gluing herself to the wall. “I won’t go in there again.”

  Silence pulses between us for a few seconds as she studies my face. “Why did you bring me here, anyway?” She looks at me with her kitten eyes. She doesn’t seem scared, or perhaps her curiosity swallowed her fear along the way.

  I motion to the room. “Go inside if you want to find out.”

  She purses her lips, stands there for a few more seconds. Eventually, she sighs and pushes the door to go inside. I smile, following her careful steady steps. The best way to get a rebellious little kitten under control is to keep her curious.

  Mae halts as soon as she sees the blank canvas facing the window. Lines of light sneak through the glass to glow the oil painting brushes and the numerous colour palettes. Kane and his team did a great job in a short time. Not only did they rip the old decor and turned the room white, but they also smuggled in the painting supplies without Tristan or Dylan finding out.

  “Why did you turn this room into an art studio?” Mae asks in a cold restraint voice. Her fists clench, lips purse, but not in suspicion this time. It’s more like anger?

  What the hell? Isn’t she supposed to appreciate this? I can’t understand this damn woman.

  “You always paint in midair.” I don’t even attempt to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Isn’t this a better alternative?”

  Her eyes sway to me in a glare, their merciless blue like a snow tigress’. “Am I supposed to jump into your arms in thanks now?” She huffs then points a finger in my direction, her tone harsh. “Your gift is insulting. I would never use an art studio in such a sullied place.”

  ‘See? She doesn’t deserve you, dear nephew. Bleed her to death. Teach her what it’s like to sully a soul.’

  I take a sharp inhale then release it in a long breath. A futile attempt to take full control over my head. “You don’t want to go against me.” I tower over her, my voice low. She doesn’t as much as flinch. “You’re showing ungratefulness to my kindness, Mae.”

  She laughs, a cruel mocking sound. “Kindness?” She manages between chuckles. “Kindness?” She shouts, pointing at the empty canvas. “You took me from that! You took me from everything I love. There’s no kindness in you, you sick insane psychopath!”

  Like a point blank bullet, I’m thrown back to that time.

  . . . . .

  Twenty Years ago,

  “Aaron’s condition is beyond treatment.” Dr Linton’s posh voice paralyses my limbs or perhaps it’s the drugs she injects me with. “He shall spend the remaining of his life in the mentally insane ward.”

  Grandmother grins. I can make out the harshness in that wrinkled face despite my woozy head. “I knew you were insane. Rot in hell with your father and aunt, you sick bastard.”

  Haziness lifts me then drops me again. Hands lock my wrists with a harsh cloth, restraining me against something like a board. The hands’ owners are mere shapes of white and grey, smelling like the underground dungeons and death— a smell I know so well. Their voices are a dizzy wave of air, piercing my ears but never reaching my head.

  I’m insane. They say I’m insane.

  No air comes into my lungs no matter how many breaths I take. I don’t know how my hands lift and squeeze the frail neck of the clearer voice. Dr Linton. The nightmare. I twist her neck to the side. Her bulging green eyes beg me to stop. I don’t. I’ll take everything from her just like she robbed the remnants of my sanity. She’ll pay.

  . . . . .

  Present,

  A gag followed by a rustle stops me in my tracks. Teary wide blue eyes take the place of Dr Linton’s green ones.

  ‘That’s it, Aaron,’ Aunt coaxes. ‘Squeeze harder.’

  Father chimes in. ‘The beauty of her soul leaving her body will be your latest masterpiece, son.’

  With a jerk, I release Mae’s neck. She falls to the ground, hands flying to her throat as she gasps for air. The sound of her deep inhales is so guttural she seems to choke on air.

  I freeze, my muscles lock together. A frenzied rush of air traffics through my lungs.

  Fucking hell. I almost killed Mae.

  The demons were seconds away from winning.

  ‘I told you not to go against us, Aaron.’ Aunt’s frosty voice taps on my neurons. ‘It’s us and your nature against the cliche version you want to become.’

  “Never call me insane again.” I bark at Mae then march out of the room. I don’t want to see the look in her eyes. It’ll haunt me.

  As soon as the door clicks behind me, I connect my fist with a wall. Rippling pain courses through my knuckles. Yet, it does nothing to freeze my chaotic brain.

  “Fuck!”

  No one provoked me enough to trigger those memories. Why does Mae have the power to bring it all back with the mere muttering of ‘insane’? Or is it the sincerity behind the word? Does she really think I’m insane?

  I’m losing myself.

  This can’t go on. I need someone
to punch.

  . . . . .

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I jab at Tristan, but he jumps back against the ring’s ropes, avoiding it. With a swift movement, he takes a neutral position. Before I could predict his next attack, he lands a low crippling hook into my stomach.

  Our harsh breaths are muffled by the other guards’ shouts, training in the adjoining rings. Male musk wafts in the air.

  Tristan grins. “Less talking, more working, shall we—”

  My quick uppercut connects with his jaw. His sports’ shoes squeak as he loses his footing. He barely catches himself before he falls out of the ring.

  I smile, tasting the saltiness of sweat. “Admit it. You’ve become an old man, Tristan.”

  “I’m only two years older than you, little brother.” He smirks as we encircle each other, like Knight and King before a heated fight.

  Tristan attempts to right cross me, but my firm-placed arms forbid him any points.

  “Why are you taking Silver out lately? I thought you didn’t get along.”

  My left hook misses at his question. He smiles wider, jumping in place. I’ve lost count of how long we’ve been boxing. His shirt, like mine, is soaked with sweat.

  “We’re working on that,” I rant.

  His reverse hook almost penetrates my side muscles. I grit my teeth at the pulsating pain. Before I can recover, an uppercut slams into my jaw nearly breaking it and spilling my teeth on the ground.

  Fucker.

  He distracted me with Mae’s bloody mare. I came here to forget about my attempt to kill her.

  I jab my bandaged fist at his head. He pushes me back with his arms and raises his palms.

  “That’s enough,” he heaves, throwing his weight on the floor. “We’re both exhausted.”

  With a towel on my shoulder, I sit across from him. “You called it quits, it’s my win, old man.”

  After taking large gulps from the bottle, his mouth glistens with sweat and water. “We both know I was about to knock you out, little brother.”

  I snatch the bottle from him. “I’m faster than you. You could’ve never knocked me out.”

  “Normally that is.” He leans back on his elbows. “Today you’re distracted.”

  Silence falls between us. The shouts of the guards in other rings take over. Kane is kicking Xan’s arse in karate. Good.

  “So?” There’s no mockery in Tristan’s voice. He looks at me the way Uncle Alexander used to. It doesn’t help that he inherited all his physical traits. “There’s something changed about you that I can’t pinpoint. You seem... different.”

  “I’m not different.” I throw the bottle away and wipe at my neck.

  “You frequently visit my wing. You work from home a lot.” He tilts his head to the side. “It’s been more than three weeks since Crow and you still haven’t asked for a target. That’s different.”

  ‘We want the girl, Tristan. Your dull targets can wait.’

  Shut the fuck up.

  The demons’ screeching is proving harder to bear.

  “I learnt self-control.” I wipe at my forehead.

  “Why do I find that hard to believe?” Tristan’s fingers tap on the ground, a gleam of suspicion on his face.

  I’m screwed both ways. If Tristan finds out about Mae, I’ll be sent to my hell on earth. If he doesn’t, and I continue fighting the impulse to kill her, I’ll go irrevocably mad— without the help of the asylum.

  ‘All your problems will disappear if you kill her,’ Aunt Ariel whispers, her voice is so disgusting I wish I was the one who shot her.

  ‘It’s an easy decision, son,’ Father says. ‘A flick of your knife and it will all be over.’

  Leave me alone, Father.

  ‘We share blood, Aaron. Mine is in your veins. I can never leave you.’

  I hit the side of my head. Hard. “Go. The. Fuck. Away!”

  “Aaron!”

  When I lift my head up, Tristan is by my side. A firm hand on my shoulder, his brows creased together. When did he get this close without me noticing it? Bloody hell. The black void sucked me in again. I’ve lost time twice in a day. If Tristan was an enemy, I would be dead now. Is my little sanity leaving sooner than expected?

  “You zoned out.” Tristan’s voice is at its lowest. The tone he uses when people need to run for their lives.

  “I always zone out of your nonessential talk.” I attempt to brush his hand away, but he pins me in place with an animalistic force, his gaze harsh. “You thought aloud. You never do that. What the hell is going on with you?”

  “None of your business.” I yank his hand away and jump to my feet, practically running out of the gym.

  The foggy air suffocates my lungs. The unending void transforms to walls, closing in on me, asphyxiating me, restraining me with Dr Linton’s cuffs and twisted jacket.

  I’m overstepping that fine insanity line, aren’t I?

  ‘None of this would’ve happened if you followed our orders, Aaron.’

  Pulling to a stop at the back entrance of my wing, I clutch the sides of my head. The voices’ assault grows rampant by the second. Almost as fast as the signals sent to my neurons.

  ‘Do it. All you have to do is—’

  The voices hush at a rustle in the bushes behind me. Not my guards. This location isn’t part of their usual hidings. I take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.

  Gates of hell, don’t swallow me into that timeless hole. Not now.

  I bend over a pretence to tie my shoelace and retrieve the knife attached to my calf.

  Before I stand straight, the source of the sound lunges at my back. A sharp cold edge is held to my throat. I twist before the lean fingers steady their hold. With an uppercut, I throw the weight away. Celeste bounces with a kickover and jumps backwards.

  Dammit. I missed disarming her.

  She’s wearing her full combat suit. The elastic material hugs every inch of her hourglass-shaped body, her grey hair in a tight ponytail. She’s here to kill.

  “How did you get in?” My hand, holding the knife, is inert by my side.

  “Oh, please. I’m Celeste.” Her voice is playful, expression neutral. She backs away further, growing the distance between us. “I can infiltrate any system.”

  I encircle her, maintaining the distance. “You failed the surprise element. We both know you can’t win against me in one on one. What now? A precision game?”

  “I’ll give you one last chance because of the glorious targets we eliminated side by side.” She studies me. “Let’s leave. Now. Together.”

  For someone who never gives their targets any chance, Celeste, like me, must’ve changed in the time we’ve been apart. She had always wanted to belong somewhere. The Pit did that for long years but since she’s insisting on leaving, she must’ve got bored with that place. She’s lost again, with nowhere to belong.

  I stop encircling her, she doesn’t. “Considering our history, I’ll also give you one last chance. Apologise to Mae and if— only if— she forgives you, I’ll spare your life.”

  She laughs so loud that I cringe. “You want me to apologise to your pet? Me, who never apologised in my life?” She points her knife at me, eyes narrowing. “When did you become such a boring human, Aaron? Is it this place? Or the girl?” When I don’t say anything, she continues. “Wake up, Aaron! She’s everything you can’t be. A mere boring existence. Is she the reason behind the delusional freedom you’ve painted for yourself?”

  My hand tightens around the knife’s handle and I resume circling her. I suck in a deep breath, not speaking unt
il I’ve made sure my voice will be in its best monotonic tone. “The delusional freedom as you call it is still better than the alternative.”

  “With the alternative being your true self?” Her voice escalates with each word.

  “What do you know about my true self?” I twirl the knife. “You’ve only seen what I’ve shown you: the blood version.”

  She huffs, slowly but steadily closing the distance between us. She’s always been better at close range. “Are there even other versions?”

  “Perhaps no. Perhaps yes.” I step backwards for my ideal two metres’ range. “All I know is that the blood version can’t rule my life anymore. It became dull after a while.”

  “You’re a hypocrite. The last person I imagined would be. Since you invited a weakness upon yourself, it’s only fair that I use it.” Her voice is calmer than the estate’s silence. “Goodbye, Aaron.”

  We throw our knives at the same time. I aim at her carotid artery. She at my heart. With a slight deviation of my upper body, I escape her knife. The metal of hers clinks against the stony pavement as my knife reaches its target.

  Celeste falls with a thud. She clutches her neck with one hand, her eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

  With quick strides, I’m by her side, looking down at her last breaths. “This is the version who would’ve spared your life if you didn’t mess with Mae.” I reach my hand to retrieve the knife. “Goodbye, Celeste.”

  Something shines in her free hand.

  A gun. Fuck. When the hell did she start using guns?

  Before I can move, sharp pain penetrates my chest. My lungs revolt at the lack of breaths. Somehow, I end up on the ground, clutching my chest. My vision becomes strings of blurry black and grey. I shake my head. The motion heightens my dizziness. I’m going to pass out.

  Think, Aaron. Think. Remember trauma cases.

  A shot to the chest. Almost blacking out. This must be a vital organ. Heart? Lung? Liver? Pancreas? I can’t feel them. I can’t fucking feel any of my organs. The pain camouflages them, clawing at my nerve endings with freezing numbness. My heartbeat drums in my head. Maybe not the heart? My pulse decreases, kicking oxygen out of my limbs with nauseating determination. I can scarcely hear it in my ears anymore.