Ruin (The Rhodes Book 1)
Page 20
I gasp for breath, but it doesn’t seem to reach my lungs. It’s the lungs. They’re collapsing. Pneumothorax? I can hear the slight sucking sound. I cough, the metallic taste explodes in my mouth. Hemothorax. Fuck. It’s Hemopneumothorax.
A shroud of darkness forms at the back of my mind, announcing the shutting down of my system. Is this the end?
But I didn’t even find the version I want yet.
I didn’t even see Mae one last time.
Chapter Twenty
Mae
I rub at my eyes. I won’t stumble to tears. Yet, uneasiness weighs on my chest like an old aching burden. I toss left and right in my bed, fighting the springing moisture beneath my eyelids. The discomfort keeps suffocating me, draining my energy, cutting my air supply like Aaron did.
Why does it hurt so much? Aaron is a killer. The fact that he tried to kill me shouldn’t have surprised me. Yet, it hurts. Being on the brink of death hurt. Being choked by the man who became my reality hurt. But what hurt the most is my idiotic surrender to his touch prior that. The stupid belief that he could be a human under those layers of ice.
The tears that fight their way out are a translation of my self-loathing. A feeling I always considered beneath me. Yet, here I am, cursing my foolishness, wanting to rip my disloyal heart out of my chest.
Who the hell is this girl? Mae isn’t an idiot. Mum and Dad didn’t bring me up to surrender to this state.
I jerk up in bed, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms. I won’t fall again. If stoning my heart is what it takes to end this stupidity, then I’ll become heartless.
If I did that from the beginning, if I continued treating Aaron as the despicable sick psycho he is, I wouldn’t be in this red zone. A zone where passion and pain are so strong it’s unbearable.
His intent to kill me is enough reason to make me hate him. For good. I’ll be strong and stop being a smitten fool.
The brown leather peeks from underneath my pillow. I glare at it.
Screw Aaron’s childhood. Who wants to know how a psycho was formed?
Wait. If I study his past, I may figure out how to fight him with his own memories. Maybe I can get powerful information that will allow me to cripple him.
I smile. He deserves every single terror bestowed upon him. He tried to kill me. I won’t be feeling sorry for him anymore. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy.
After a few seconds’ hesitation, I pull the journal from its hideout and pick up from where I left off.
I triggered Arthur again. I took Alexander’s side in an argument about Aaron’s future. It ended up in flames. The brothers almost killed each other. They always tolerated one another, but today was different. Arthur wanted his heir to grow into a heartless monster like he is. Alexander refused to let his nephew slip into this family’s hereditary psychopathy. When I was asked for my opinion, I said, “Let Alexander raise Aaron. He’s a better role model than us.” Alexander gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving. Then I was face to face with Arthur’s murderous aura. If it was visible, it would form a black halo around his whole body. I braced myself to be scolded. To be taken roughly against the desk. Yet, he didn’t move. It’s worse when he doesn’t express his anger. When this last happened, I almost ended up dead.
After a long silence, his words undid me. “The urge to kill you is bigger and stronger than anything I’ve experienced in my whole damn life, Eva. Ever since I knew you, I’m in a constant battle against myself. Even using other women’s blood to not draw yours isn’t helping much. Why are you making it harder by taking someone else’s side? Why do you make me feel like you’re unworthy of my sacrifices? I lost my sister, the only one who understood me, for you. Why can’t I have someone to understand in my son? Why do you have to take that, too?” Arthur fell into that hole again where neither I nor his son can save him. Arthur fought so hard but for how long can he keep up the fight?
I fought the hardest. Over the years, I tried my best to feel for the both of us. I can’t do it anymore. I’m too tired to keep going at this life. I want it to end.
My shaky fingers release the journal, a shadow of a scream forms at the back of my throat.
Oh. God. Aaron is a replica of his father, isn’t he? That explains the vacant look in his eyes when he choked me. He probably wasn’t seeing me at all. It didn’t matter who he kills as long as he breaks the neck between his hands.
Alexander wasn’t able to save his nephew after all. Aaron followed his genes and became a psychopath.
Does that mean he fights it, too? Did I trigger him somehow?
I shake my head frantically. No, I’m not going there. I won’t blame myself for his craziness. It’s not my fault. I’m the victim here.
But is Aaron a victim too? He certainly wouldn’t have been the same if he was raised by a loving family or at least parents who didn’t use him for their own benefits. Both Arthur and Eva never put their son’s needs before their own. He was collateral damage. If they fought, they only did it for themselves. None of them tried to understand a child’s feelings.
I hope they’re both dead. Aaron doesn’t need those people in his life.
Ugh. Dammit. I read the journal to fuel my hate and find a way to bring Aaron down, but here I am inflaming my overflowing sympathy for him.
I need to talk to him. What if he has an explanation for his murder attempt? After all, it was the first time he’s got physically violent with me.
This time I’ll get some answers, I won’t let him shut me down like every other time.
I jump out of bed and scurry out of the room. Is he in his bedroom? I tap on his closed door, my voice tentative. “Aaron, are you in there?”
No answer.
“Open up! We need to talk.”
The damn bastard. How dare he ignore me after what he’s done? I kick at the hard wooden door, ignoring the stinging in my toes. “Hey! Come— “
A loud bang outside pulls my attention. It sounded like a gunshot. Aaron mentioned hunting before. Is he doing that?
I inch to the window at the end of the hallway. Blood freezes in my veins.
Down in the field, a woman in black clothes lies in the midst of a small pool of blood. That’s not what locks my muscles and forbids my lungs from functioning. It’s Aaron lying not far from her. Blood gushes out of his mouth and chest, soaking his T-shirt, dyeing the stony pavement red. Aaron’s face is pale, no life in his limbs. No twitch in his fluttered eyes. Just blood. Everywhere.
Is he dead?
He can’t be dead. He... can’t.
“Aaron!” My strangled shout pierces my ears, but I call his name over and over, as if the sheer force of my scream can bring him back to life. I bang my palms on the ice cold glass. I hit it, hard until my hands sting. The damn thing doesn’t break. Nor does Aaron show any sign of life.
Salt saturates my mouth. I choke on my now-hoarse shouts. My legs buckle, I slip to the ground, pulling my knees to my chin. Every breath I take digs nails into my ribcage. Invisible hands reach to squeeze my heart.
Aaron’s dead.
My kidnapper’s dead. I’m free. This is the part where I should jump from joy. Yet, more raw sobs escape my lips. My body gets swallowed in an intense storm, drowning in the loss of oxygen. I hug my waist and stroke my arm. This is way worse than my panic attacks.
This isn’t the freedom I want. I was supposed to talk with Aaron, not witness his blood-stained corpse.
Someone wake me up from this nightmare.
Time passes and I sit there until my limbs sour, too scared to look from the window and realise this could be a reality, not a nightmare.
A finger t
I crane my head up. My stomach sinks at the face that greets me. The hair and eyes are similar, but he’s not Aaron.
Tristan stares at me, head tilted to the side, brows furrowed. “Who are you?”
“Aaron... help him.” Is that hoarse whisper mine?
He studies me, the lines of his face undecipherable. “I asked you a question, I expect an answer.”
“Help him first, then I’ll tell you.” My voice rises. Bastard. Isn’t he supposed to help his brother? Unless... Aaron’s really dead. I lock eyes with Tristan, and murmur, “Please.”
His pointy gaze pierces me as if attempting to dissect my soul. “He’s undergoing surgery. Now tell me who are you and how do you know Aaron.”
My lungs contract, receiving the oxygen they were denied.
He’s alive. Oh God, he’s alive.
Energy kicks into my limbs, I jump to my feet, and blurt. “Where is he? Can I see him?”
Tristan’s expression darkens. His voice comes out in a similar harsh lordliness as Aaron’s. “Until you tell me who you are and what the hell are you doing in Aaron’s quarters, there is no going anywhere for you. I could change my mind if you give me what I want.”
“Fine! I’m Mae Wilson. Aaron brought me here weeks ago.” I inch closer to him. “Now, take me to him.”
Tristan stands there, unmoving, as if he didn’t hear a word I said. Studying me seems a better option than going to his brother. After a few moments, and without breaking eye contact, he calls. “Xan. Kane.”
Kane’s bulky tall frame peeks from the doorway. The other tall man with Kane, Xan, is the one Aaron hit to pulp. I haven’t seen him since then.
Tristan finally releases my gaze and focuses on the two men. “Xan is to stay here until it’s decided otherwise. Kane is coming with me.”
Xan gives a curt nod, but Kane shakes his head. “That’s not possible, Your Grace. My life is at stake if I don’t follow Aaron’s orders. I already risked it by opening the door. His guest isn’t to be in anyone’s presence.”
Your Grace? Is he a duke?
Whoa. I’m not into aristocracy or anything but a duke is big. Like right after the royal family big.
“Is that so?” Tristan throws a glance my way, arching an eyebrow, before he goes back to Kane. “Very well, both of you will remain in the West Wing.”
Why are they talking nonsense? Why aren’t they taking me to Aaron? Did his family members and staff drink from the same unemotional fountain?
When I’m about to scream at them, they turn to leave. I follow them before Tristan twirls towards me with an unintelligible expression. “Where do you think you are going?”
“With you.” He says nothing so I continue, “You said you would take me to Aaron if I told you who am I.”
“No, I did not.”
“Yes, you did!” I stomp my foot in the ground.
“I said I could change my mind.” His expression remains motionless. “It turns out I did not.”
Did he just manipulate me? The bastard! He’s indeed Aaron’s brother.
Tristan’s dreaming if he thinks he can stop me, though. Not even his psycho brother could. I open my mouth to retort when Kane picks up his phone. He listens, brows knitting together. This must be the first show of emotion I’ve ever witnessed on his usually expressionless face.
When he hangs up, his voice’s modulated, but a hint of urgency cloaks his words. “Aaron is in a critical condition. He lost a lot of blood and there is a shortage of his type.”
The three men keep talking. They throw and receive orders and affirmations, but their words don’t reach me.
The fragment of hope crushes to tiny bloody pieces.
I don’t know how my surroundings quieted or how I ended up kneeling on the floor. All I have left is putting my hands together and closing my eyes.
God, please save him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tristan
White saturates the surrounding walls, trapping me in the midst of endless beeping machines. The detergents’ smell clogs my nostrils.
I always hated hospitals.
Especially when Aaron’s body lies motionless in one of them. A huge tube comes out of his mouth like a colourless snake. His pale skin is more suited for death rather than life.
My jaw tightens. Not Aaron, too. I’ve lost enough already.
I sit next to Dylan on the private room’s sofa. “Should we take him to better doctors abroad?” My whisper is too loud in the silent room.
“He’s out of danger.” Dylan lowers the sleeve of his shirt. Despite the nurses’ orders for him to eat after donating blood to Aaron, water is the only thing he has consumed. “The tube is only to aid his lungs. He will come back.”
“He’s a tenacious bastard.” My shoulders straighten. “Speaking of which, there’s a girl living in his quarters.”
Dylan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Since when does he bring women to the estate?”
“And since when does he avoid killing for three weeks? Since when does he express his psychosis aloud?” I heave a long sigh. “If...” I cut off, pursing my lips. “When he survives this, things will change. I’m done giving him freedom when he obviously needs help.”
“You know I’m on your side but a help you force upon him isn’t help, it’s an order.” He glances between Aaron and me. “I’m not a fan of the bastard, but if you push him, he’ll rebound against you.”
With jerky hands, I loosen my tie. “Then what do you suggest? Huh? I sit back and watch him annihilate himself? I can’t lose him!”
“I’m only stating facts.” Dylan scratches his temple, eyes tired. “The mental institute will make you lose him for good, Tristan.”
I point in Aaron’s direction, his dry lips a frightening shade of blue. “I’m already losing him, Dylan, better break him than regret it when it’s too late.”
“You will regret it either way.”
I shake away the thick cloak of the disturbing memories assaulting my head. “Father asked me to take care of him. It was his final wish. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find a way to bring Aaron back.”
Dylan rubs his hand over his face and sinks back into the sofa. “I’m smelling a disaster. A terrible one.”
. . . . .
Three days later, Aaron finally opens his eyes. His cheekbones protruded, his black gaze dimmed, even more than their usual deadliness.
All it matters is that he’s alive.
My little brother is back.
I beep the button over his head. Not long after, doctors and nurses barge into the room. After checking him up left and right like he’s a puppet, they remove the giant tube from his mouth.
He coughs an ugly stagnant sound, for which the doctors scribble some notes in their endless boards.
I inch closer to his bedside and clear my throat. “Welcome back, Aaron.”
Dylan sits by his side but says nothing. To say they don’t get along is an understatement.
All because of Celeste that I’m glad she’s gone.
“W-What’s...” Aaron cuts off his impossibly hoarse voice and coughs before he continues. “...m-my... condition?”
“You’ll live.” I smile. “You just need a lot of rest to recover the damaged lung.”
His eyebrows crease together. “A detailed report.”
I point at the doctors. “For that, you will need them. I don’t remember what they said.”
They brief Aaron about his condition, using medical terms I can’t decipher. Aaron nods and asks a few clipped questions. His voice is abnormally hoarse. Probably due to that tube that was shoved inside his chest the entire time.
After the horde of people dressed in white leave, Aaron sits in bed with weighing effort. “How long have I been here?”
“Roughly three days,” Dylan replies.
A cloud of uneasiness cloaks Aaron’s expression, accentuated by the whiteness of his face. His shaky fingers inspect the tubes and machines attached to him.
Dylan raises his eyebrows, voice shifting to firm. “Will you not ask about Celeste?”
“She must be dead. She can’t survive that.” Aaron doesn’t even look up. With trembling fingers, he tugs on a tube and snatches the needle from his arm.
“What are you doing?” I grab his hand to stop him but he’s already trying to get up.
“I’m going back.”
He stands up but his legs fail him. I clutch his shoulders and sit him back on the bed.
“You can’t even walk straight.” Dylan stands by my side. “Not to mention that you look like hell.”
Aaron shoots him a glare and grits his teeth. “Dial Kane to come and get me out of here.”
“Kane is on an important mission,” I say in a neutral tone.
My brother jerks his head towards me. The sudden movement causes him to hiss. “What mission?”
“Do you have something to tell us, Aaron?” Dylan’s voice is firm.
A shadow passes Aaron’s eyes, but he soon masks it. The little show of interest is all I need. I lean close. “Something like kidnapping Mae Wilson and keeping her in your quarters for several weeks.”
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