by Chloe Walsh
Ignoring me completely, Trig turned to a group of his men, men I didn’t recognize, and spoke quickly in Spanish.
"Quiero tres carros para seguir mi carro. Todos los hombres armados. Solo Dios sabe lo que ha planeado. Él me está permitiendo salir de aquí con ella y puedo oler una trampa. Quiero que queden cuatro hombres hasta que llegue el respaldo. Necesito ojos en este bastardo en todo momento. Noche y dia. Él no mea sin que yo sepa. Y llamar a Chino. Dile que avise a los hombres. Diles que nos vamos. Esto es importante. No jodas esto o lo pagarás con tu vida."
"Trig?"
Nothing.
"Trig!"
Quick as lightning, Trig snatched up the hand I was using to tap his shoulder and entwined our fingers, not looking at me, as he continued to speak to his men.
"I'm going home?" I demanded, pulling on his hand. "Really?"
"Yes, corderito," he finally confirmed, sounding frustrated as he mumbled something else in Spanish to his guard before lifting me into his arms and moving for the door. "You are going home."
"I'm getting out?" My heart beat harder. "How?"
"When I claimed you at your initiation, everything your father owned became mine," he replied, moving straight for the familiar Bentley. "It is the code. Fabio had to give it to me." Sneering, he added, "You know how seriously he takes his precious code."
"Oh," I croaked out, reeling. "So, you own everything?" Sinking into the backseat, I scooted over for Trig to climb in beside me. "My father's estate – it's all yours?"
"No." Closing the door behind him, Trig slapped a hand on the seat and barked, "Drive," before turning to look at me. His eyes burned with heat when he said, "It's ours."
16
The car I was traveling in drove through the gigantic gates, surrounded by armed guards, and ascended up the three-mile long laneway to the expansive property.
Acres upon acres of land lay before us, and I tried to take in my surroundings, staring out the window at the tree line on either side of the laneway, but I couldn't because I didn’t want to remember.
I felt numb.
Every inch of my father's estate was tinged with beautiful memories – beautiful lies – that were too painful to think about.
Like the huge, deciduous sycamore tree standing slightly apart from the evergreen trees that housed a swing I used to play on every morning after breakfast, or the stables just off the back of the property that I used to sneak inside when I was trying to evade bath time. Or the spot on the gravel where – nope!
I refused to think about it.
Didn't happen.
Never happened.
Forget about it.
Shivering, I turned away and stared down at my bare thighs, too fucked up to process.
"Look," Trig said quietly from beside me. "You are free, corderito."
We both knew that wasn't true.
I was here because he claimed me, not because I had freewill.
I wasn't free.
I had just lucked out in the claimed-whore department.
There was a big difference.
This wasn't ours.
It was his.
And Fabio was coming for me.
This momentary peace or whatever the hell it was, was exactly that – momentary.
Temporary.
It wouldn't last.
"I am furious with you," Trig decided to tell me. "You are so stupid."
I could feel the weight of his stare on my face, but I refused to look up.
"You could have been killed," he continued, tone gruff and full of emotion. "You are so fucking reckless sometimes, corderito."
Sighing heavily, I clasped my hands together and remained silent.
"Speak to me."
I couldn’t.
"Ashton."
Nothing.
I had nothing left to give.
"You are not doing this –" Releasing a frustrated growl, he snagged my chin between his fingers and turned my face to his. "Snap out of it." His eyes were dark as coal and burning with heat. "Come on, corderito." Stroking my chin with his thumb, he cupped my cheek and shifted closer. "Come back to me."
"Do you think I could get that bird now?" I whispered, leaning into his touch, feeling completely hollow. "Do you think Peter was mad at me?" I swallowed deeply. "For caging him? What if birds don't like to be caged?" I didn’t. "Do you think he hated me?"
"Enough about the damn bird," Trig bit out, sounding pained. "Get out of your head and come back to me."
"I don’t know how," I confessed, biting down on my lip. "Everything's dark now, and I think I've lost my way back."
"That is bullshit," he snapped, crowding my personal space.
I guess it didn’t matter anymore.
I belonged to him.
I only had personal space if he chose to give it to me.
"You are a strong woman. I do not understand this –" He shook his head and growled. "What is going on with you?"
"I don’t know," I admitted, trembling. "I think I might be crazy."
"You are," he assured me, lips twitching into a ghost of a smile. "That is not news to me, mi reina."
"Are you going to lock me up again, Trig? Once we get inside?" Blinking back the tears filling my eyes, I stared up at him and whispered, "Are you going to cage me?"
Trigger's eyes darkened, if that was even possible, and a vein ticked in his neck. "I have never caged you."
"But you have raped me." The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to take them back.
I wasn’t even sure why I wanted to take them back.
It was the truth.
He raped me in that fucking room they strung me up in tonight.
I couldn't understand why I felt guilt over speaking the truth.
Did he?
Did he really, Ashton?
Think about this, Ashton.
Trigger flinched and dropped his hand from my face.
Shifting to the far end of the seat, he nodded stiffly. "Sí."
"I didn’t mean–"
"Don’t say it," he quickly cut me off. "It is the truth."
"I wish it wasn’t."
"The past cannot be changed," was all he replied.
He didn’t speak to me after that and I was glad.
I couldn’t seem to find my way out of my thoughts and being out of the compound was confusing me. I was on a sensory overload with new sights, sounds, and smells.
All of the new sensations thrashing through me, combined with the agonizing pain I was currently experiencing, pushed me to a dark place in my mind.
A part of me wanted to fall on my hands and knees right here in this car and beg Trigger to forgive me for my accidental treason that night, and then have him take my memories away.
Because I could handle a lot of things in this life, but I couldn't handle all of the things at the same thing.
I needed an anchor.
I needed my Trig. Not the man sitting beside me. I needed the old him. Sure, this version of him had protected me, and to a point, I trusted him, but it wasn’t the same.
It would never be the same again and the knowledge crushed me.
He would never love me like before and I would never get past what he did to me in front of those men.
"We are here," Trig announced when the car pulled to a stop outside my father's mansion. He turned to look at me, hand hovering over the door handle. "I kept my promise to you." He swallowed deeply and gave me a stiff nod. "You are home, Ashton Northwood."
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but he didn't wait around for a response.
Instead, he climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him.
Trembling, I clasped my hands together and stared up at the regal looking building, feeling my head spin.
Home.
I was home.
17
True to his word, Fabio arrived at my father's estate no less than sixty minutes after our arrival.
Well, not Fabio in
the flesh, but he did send several of his guards to my father's estate to bring me home – or kill me.
Yeah, I think a dead Ashton worked for him, too.
A whore for a whore.
I hadn't been given a chance to absorb my new-found surroundings when Trigger dragged me into a room that I never wanted to step foot inside again.
Block it out, Ashton.
Don’t remember him.
It hurts too damn hard.
He was a bad man…
My father's desk was shoved aside, the luxurious albeit dusty Persian rug was dragged up, and then I was carefully lowered through the tiny trapdoor and into the darkness until my feet found purchase on the cold concrete awaiting several feet beneath the surface.
"Stay here, corderito. I will come back for you."
"No, Trig," I croaked out, staring up at him when he released my hands and slithered back from where he'd laid on his stomach to lower me into the hole. "Please don’t leave me –"
"Do as you are told," was all he said before the wooden hatch slammed shut, leaving me bereft and alone.
In the darkness, I stared at the closed trapdoor until the sound of gun fire filled my ears.
And so it begins.
Again.
Panicked as reality crashed down on me, I turned on my heels and ran. Stumbling down the steep concrete steps of the passageway, I found myself back in another room I was far too accustomed to.
Daddy's safe room.
It was the same one my father had hidden me inside on countless occasions. A separate entity from the rest of the underground level of the mansion and only big enough to house a small child.
Me.
It was about the same size as the elevator my father had once taken me on during one of our secret day trips to the aquarium or the zoo. Like the elevator, the safe room had no windows.
If my memory served me correctly, it was separated from the rest of the lower level of the house, going deep beneath the foundations of the property.
When I was little and my father forced me to hide inside here, I would play for hours with my dolls by candlelight, while I waited for him to come get me.
Now, I sat motionless, in the darkness, listening to the sound of silence and trying to reason with the part of my mind that had given up on life.
When that didn’t work, I emptied my mind and just waited for whatever was happening outside to be over.
Like a well-trained dog, I sat on the bottom step of the dusty, concrete staircase, taking comfort in the cool temperature of the room, while I waited for Trig to return – or for the men to come take me.
Whichever came first.
Plagued with painful memories, I found myself thinking about what Jethro had once said…
"…He's going to get you killed. Or you'll get him killed. Or you'll both end up killing each other because you're both fucking insane. Either way, you're losing your mind in him, Ashton. It's not safe, and it won't end well…"
Maybe he was right, and maybe I should have heard his warning all of those years ago. I certainly felt like I had lost my mind. Lost it in Trigger. Lost it in the madness surrounding the world I lived in. I couldn’t be sure anymore.
But I knew Jethro was right about one thing; I was going to die.
Before this war was over, someone with Crellid blood running through their veins was going to take my life away.
I didn’t know when or how it would happen, but I knew that it would.
I was going to die.
And in a sick way, I welcomed the thought.
18
I spent several hours alone in the darkness before Trigger returned. When he finally came to get me, he was restless and on edge.
I couldn’t blame him. Feuding with Fabio was a nerve-racking concept.
Coming here was a strange move by Fabio. Surely, he had to know what the fate of his men would be the moment he unleashed them on Trig's new-found HQ.
Something wasn't right.
In fact, it was all wrong.
Without speaking a word, Trigger threw the trapdoor open, sending light into the cellar, as he thundered down the staircase to collect me.
"Can you walk?" he asked, tone irritated, as he stood several steps above me and extended his hand. He was breathing hard and the jacket he'd worn earlier was absent. "Corderito?"
"Is it over?" I asked instead, slowly dragging myself to my feet, still naked beneath the jacket I was wrapped in.
Asking him if it was over was a stupid question.
He wouldn't be here if it wasn't.
He answered me anyway in the form of a clipped nod and two simple words. "For now."
"A-are you okay?" I asked, shivering violently.
"Sí." Expelling a frustrated breath, he quickly reeled off a censored version of what had gone down before reaching for my hand.
My heart squeezed tight, finding no comfort in his words, but immense pleasure in his touch as he herded me up the concrete steps towards the small square of light ahead that symbolized the open hatch in the floor.
They were dead.
Every last one of Fabio's men.
They hadn't even breached the gates of the estate.
They were killed on sight.
All six car loads.
So why send them here in the first place?
Was it a message?
Another one of his mind games?
What was his endgame here?
Why let me leave in the first place and then send countless men to their slaughter?
Why not kill us both when he had the chance?
I couldn't figure it out, and from the look of pure frustration etched on Trig's face, I guessed that he couldn't either.
When we reached the top step, Trig lunged for the opening above our heads. He was 6'4, and the hatch was still a good two feet above his head.
On a running jump, he reached for the opening and then used his upper body strength to haul himself up.
Disappearing through the hatch, his face reappeared moments later. "Jump, Corderito," he instructed softly, leaning his upper body into the hole in the floor. "Come to me."
At 5'4, I was at a severe disadvantage, but I did as he asked. Ignoring the blistering pain in my body, especially my throbbing back, I threw myself at him, jumping as high as I could with my arms extended.
His fingers curled around my wrists, capturing me mid-air, and hauling me upwards.
Pulling me through the narrow hole in the floor, he hooked one strong around my body, dragging me to him.
Breathing hard, I squeezed my body through the hole and landed in a heap on the floor beside him.
Trig didn’t waste any time closing the trapdoor. Springing to his feet, he quickly pushed the rug back in place and rearranged my father's desk until it looked as if we had never been there.
"This is a trap," I whispered, casting a sideways glance his way from my perch on the floor. "Fabio? He's planning something, Trig. He didn’t send those men over here to die for no good reason. It's a trick, or a plan, or a sick clue you're supposed to unravel." I exhaled a weary sigh and pressed my fingertips to my forehead. "You know he likes to play and toy with his prey before he delivers the killer blow." I shivered. "That was foreplay, Trig, and he just came on your tits. "
"Yes, corderito," he replied, helping me to my feet. "I am aware."
"And?" Our chests brushed and I forced myself not to recoil as I steadied myself on my feet.
As usual, his shoulder holster was strapped to his back, with his pistols tucked safely inside. I didn’t care today, though. I wasn't even tempted to snatch a gun.
I eyed him warily, taking in the sight of the way his broad, muscular chest and thick corded arms stretched the fabric of his now-wrinkled black shirt.
He looked deadlier and more dangerous than usual and I found myself taking a safe step back.
Trig noticed my retreat and his nostrils flared, eyes softening. "Stop. You know that I would never hurt –"
The moment the words came out of my mouth, Trigger shut down.
Whatever tenderness had been in his eyes quickly morphed into wary distain.
"Follow me," was all he replied before abruptly leaving the room.
Feeling overwhelmed and refusing to acknowledge my surroundings, I quickly hurried from his room, feeling a shiver roll down my spine as a tiny voice in the back of my mind screamed stay.
Remember, Ashton.
Fuck no!
"I have a doctor waiting to see you," Trigger announced, tone harder than earlier. "He will tend to your wounds." His shoulder brushed against mine as we walked side by side down the familiar corridor towards the western wing of the house. "Whatever you need…" His voice trailed off as he tapped furiously on the keypad of his phone. "He is very discreet."
Of course he's discreet, I thought to myself.
Doctors, lawyers, or anyone else that dabbled in the affairs of The Order or any other criminal organization in the underworld had to have the discretion side of things nailed down.
If they didn’t, well, let's just say, they would not be alive for long.
Discretion was a vital attribute to possess in our world.
Not bothering to respond, I kept my gaze locked on Trigger, watching as he moved with purpose through my father's house.
He knew his way around.
That much was clear.
"You've been here before," I whispered, curiosity piqued. "Many times."
"Sí," he confirmed, not bothering to look up from his phone. He was so familiar with his surroundings that when he took a left under the archway that separated two of the house wings, his feet didn't falter once.
"When?" I asked with a frown.
Silence.
"Trig?"
"Yes, corderito?" He sounded distracted, like he was only half listening to me. "What is it?"
"When have you been here before?" I repeated, upping my pace to keep up with his long strides, as we passed countless closed doors with armed guards stationed outside.