The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3)

by Heather Knight

  It hurts. “Thank you for coming when you did. I know you saved my life.”

  He jerks up, and I don’t miss the eagerness in his eyes.

  “But I don’t want you coming here anymore,” I finish before he can speak.

  The light in his eyes goes out. “I didn’t…I didn’t order what happened to you.”

  “I know.” I do. Now.

  “I thought you were going home.” His eyes literally plead for my forgiveness. It’s so unlike him. So very un-Kent, and I have to look away.

  I focus on our hands, entwined like lovers—like lovers saying good-bye. “I’ll never be normal,” I confess. “I’ll never be quite right. Mom and Janice want me to find a routine. They say if I do the same things at the same time in the same way, every day, it’ll help me. I think they’re wrong. But I’m hoping it’ll help me not feel.”

  “I’m so sorry.” The naked pain in his voice sears me.

  I don’t want him to think I hate him. I don’t. I love him. I always will. But he’s commander in chief of Knoxville. He has a ferocious wife, one who acts like she was born to formal society and could probably take on the devil and win. That’s what he needs, not me. He has his name to think of.

  “Thank you for everything,” I tell him. I shake my head. “Everyone knows about Lawrence. Everyone knows about Nico. No one talks about the other brother. You’re the best of them all, and I’m so grateful to have known you.”

  He flinches. He looks to the ceiling and sucks in his lips. His hands release mine, and he runs his knuckles over my cheek, tucks a stub of hair behind my ear. His face screams nakedness and pain.

  My resolve fades as he bends his head to kiss me. I tilt my head, and his lips touch mine. They’re soft. They’re gentle. He fills me with aching sweetness.

  But he’s married. To Ayden.

  He steps back. He opens his mouth as though to say something, then closes it. He nods—at what, I don’t know.

  I’m still standing in that same spot when the car door slams. I hear the tires back out of the drive. Then the engine fades into the distance.

  ~ ~ ~

  Two days later a crisp white envelope flies through the mail slot. I rush to the window, but the retreating figure is no one I know.

  Janice picks it up and inspects the front. “It’s for you, Bianca.”

  I don’t know if I want it. I snatch it out of her hands, and my hands shake as I tear open the envelope.

  Dear Bianca,

  When I first saw you with your hair skinned back in that hideous braid, I wanted to free it from that band and bury my face in it. You held yourself like any second you’d fly apart into a million pieces. You spoke to me without ever saying a word. But you were here for my brother. Then Nico acted like Nico, and you became mine.

  I have a confession to make. Sick bastard that I am, I’ve taken more than one nice girl and trained her to take cock like it’s the only thing she’s meant for. When you told me you were broken, I thought I could fix you. It didn’t work out the way I meant. It was you that molded me. I’d spend hours in my office, training troops or doing unspeakable things that would make you cringe, just to avoid you. But I couldn’t stay away.

  You thought you were plain, but that wild blonde hair of yours makes me want to do bad things. Those eyes of yours are crazy beautiful, and every time you look at me, I ache. You curve in all the right places, and when I see you, half the time I’m thinking of bending you over the nearest chair and fucking you until you scream. Your lips. God, your tongue. You suck me like a dream. You wait hours on your knees, naked and ready, and when I come to you, you serve me like no submissive I’ve ever trained. You are the kindest person I know, and your thoughtfulness takes my breath away. God took away my face, and then he consoled me with the richest gem on earth. You.

  Men like me don’t give. We take. I demanded trust from you, and you gave it. I took everything you had, gladly. You showed me loyalty and obedience in every way possible, and in return I gave you my cock. I didn’t think anyone could truly care for me, not after the fire turned my face into a revolting mess. I was angry, and I felt betrayed, and despite the evidence, I jumped on the belief that you’d been using me all along.

  People know the Barrys are ruthless. We got where we are today with cunning, careful planning, and brutality. When it came time to kill you and your sister, I couldn’t. I stood there with my gun pointed at the base of your skull, and I couldn’t even recite the charges. You were my greatest treasure.

  A week after you left, I was informed your party had been attacked by raiders and that there were no survivors. All that remained were pieces of what used to be people. I grieved for you even though I still thought you were guilty. Through it all, Ayden stayed at my side, comforting me, and in return I stood with her in front of Lawrence and joined my life with hers. At that time I knew her as an intelligent and charming woman who would take the pain I inflicted and walk away like a satisfied cat. I had no idea that a malicious, deceitful cunt hid behind that well-bred face.

  It was only after your father’s confession that I understood how deeply I’d betrayed you. I take full blame for what Nico and Ayden did to you and your sister. If I’d trusted you, as I demanded you trust me, none of this would have happened. I’d apologize, but I don’t have words to cover anything like this.

  By now Nico and his entourage have crossed into the mountains. He will never return to Knoxville, and he can never hurt you again. As for Ayden, well, you won’t be seeing her around either.

  I will do everything in my power to find your sister. I swear this to you.

  I also swear that you won’t have to see me again. I’ve done enough to ruin your life, and it’s time you had some peace. You deserve it.

  With respect,

  Kent

  ~ ~ ~

  Dear Kent,

  I don’t blame you for what Nico and Ayden did. They loved you, I’m sure, and they were only trying to protect you and the family name. You’ll find this strange, I know, but I forgive them. As for you, forgiveness isn’t an option. You did nothing to me that I didn’t want.

  I went to you willingly. I let you break me, knowing I’d shatter like glass and never be whole again. You asked, so I threw myself down and let the pieces fly. For the first time in years, I was happy.

  I would have given you my soul, had you asked for it.

  It was more than love. You became the center of my world. I lived for you. You were my sun, and ever since you left me, I’ve hurtled out of control, an empty rock on an endless path to nothing. All the tricks I had for dealing with life are gone, and I’ll never function on my own again. You saw me. Half the time I don’t even remember how to eat.

  I see myself forty years from now in some mental hospital, if they still have those then. Once my mother is gone, a stranger will care for me, or a series of strangers, but I’ll always be a burden. I’m a quarter of a person made of ragged and bleeding flesh. Every breath I take, I wonder why I should bother. That’s not living. It’s death trapped in living tissue.

  You said I was your greatest treasure. If that’s true, then don’t leave me a burden on people who’ve suffered enough. You helped me get this way, and that makes me your responsibility. If I kill myself, it’ll destroy my mother. She’s tried so hard. So I need you to do what’s right. I need you to end this. I need you to put that bullet in my brain like you were always supposed to so I can finally find peace, and everyone can get on with their lives.

  I love you. I will always love you.

  Bianca

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I gave Michael my letter four days ago. He’s one of the soldiers Kent sent to guard us. My colonel sent all of them plain clothed so I wouldn’t have to see the Barry uniform and feel anxious. He’s so thoughtful. Since then I’ve waited for something, anything, to tell me he at least looked at my letter, considered it. The crunch of footsteps in the snow sends me flying to the window, even though I hate the stark bleakn
ess that surrounds us. This time it is the lady across the street, and she really is walking a dog. There are so few dogs these days.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Mom arches her brows like she already knows the answer.

  I sink back into my seat and pick up my cards. “Not really. Just hoping.”

  Mom pinches the bridge of her nose. “You really loved him,” she says and sets down a king, queen, and jack of spades.

  “Yes.”

  I’ve told her what happened, that it was Nico and Ayden. She still hates him though. For Dad. For me. For being a Barry.

  Mom winces. “His face, though.”

  I draw a card. Six of diamonds. Useless to me, and I drop it in the discard pile. “I have scars too.”

  “You know what I mean.” She frowns at her hand and makes another move.

  How can she not understand? “I loved all of him. The good and the bad. To me all of it was beautiful, even the scars.”

  Especially the scars.

  Mom folds her cards to her chest. She grimaces. “You were such a darling little girl.”

  And I’m such a disappointment now. I smile wryly. I don’t look at her.

  “I spent all my time chasing after your sister,” she goes on. “I knew you were all right. You’d always do what I told you, and I knew I could trust you. I was a terrible mother.”

  My jaw drops. “That’s not true!”

  “You needed to be held. I should have let Tish get herself out of trouble and shown you how special you were.”

  My stomach tightens, and I look away. “I’m not special, Mom. I just don’t fight.”

  She seizes my left hand. “Then I will fight for you.”

  She narrows her eyes and grits her teeth, and she reminds me of a Rottweiler mama guarding her puppy. Her last puppy.

  A surge of emotion wells inside me. I love her intensely.

  Another set of footsteps. The mail flap rocks and the footsteps retreat. It’s just the guy with the news sheet, going door to door. It’s always thin, two or three pages at most. No advertisements, just whatever information the citizens need to know.

  “Your move, Bee.”

  I shake my head and inspect my hand. He’s not coming. Another day of making moves. Faking life.

  “Amy, come look at this,” Janet says.

  Mom straightens. “What?”

  Janice wags the news sheet. “You’ve got to see this.”

  Mom sets her cards down and takes the sheet. A second later her lips part. “Mother of God.”

  Leslie seizes the sheet and gives it a scan. Her jaw drops. “That woman is his consort? I thought Ayden was his wife. Michael!”

  Michael is a good-looking guy if you like the handsome, muscular, cheerful type. He ducks his head into the room, then spots the news sheet. He straightens.

  Mom grabs the news sheet back from Leslie. “Do you know anything about this?”

  He cocks his head. “Yes, ma’am. We were informed yesterday.”

  “We have a city full of Barry soldiers!”

  Okay, dead inside is one thing, but what the hell? “Mom, what’s going on?”

  “No, ma’am,” Michael counters. “Mason soldiers.”

  Mom shoves her chair back and gets to her feet. “What does he think he’s doing? It’s going to be a civil war!”

  Michael’s shoulders drop, and he moves farther into the room. “No, ma’am. The men are loyal to Kent. Not the Barrys. This is Mason territory.”

  Mom’s mouth falls open. “Well, shit!”

  I have never heard my mother swear. Like me, she probably thinks the words, but they never come out of her mouth. Ever. I gawk.

  I drop my own cards on the table. “Is someone going to tell me what’s happening?”

  But a car door slams and my heart fills with gratitude. My chest clutches in dread.

  This time when the knock comes, I’m right there at the door.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kent is dressed in plain clothes: a white shirt open at the neck and gray wool slacks. Kent without his uniform messes with my head. Without a word he scoops me up.

  “What are you doing? I can walk.”

  Mom pops out onto the porch, sans coat. “Bianca!”

  “Stay with them,” Kent orders Michael.

  The soldier salutes.

  “Kent, this isn’t necessary. You can put me down.”

  Instead he presses his lips to my temple.

  Okay, he’s not here to give me peace. You don’t pick up a girl and carry her away from her mother without letting her, well, say something profound. You definitely don’t kiss her. Teasing me like this, it’s just plain mean.

  “I liked you better in uniform.”

  He suppresses a smile. “We’re having them made over. Know anyone who can sew?”

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on?” He’s so warm and strong.

  His grip on me tightens. “You’ll find out.”

  “What’s with all the cars, anyway? I thought all the fuel was for electricity?”

  “The government keeps a few for emergencies, plowing, getting around town—something your dad started.” There is indeed a plow scoop attached to the front of the SUV.

  Another plain-clothed man snaps to attention and opens the rear door. Kent places me on the backseat and slides in alongside.

  Before I can ask where we’re going, he pulls a wide black strip of cloth out of his pocket. The air pressure changes, and something in me clicks.

  “Turn around,” he instructs.

  My heartbeat slows and I turn. I close my eyes.

  Kent places the satiny cloth over my face and ties the ends securely. My skin tingles as his fingers brush my neck.

  The car retreats down the drive as Kent pulls me onto his lap, my back to his chest and my legs spread over his. The car stops, the driver switches into gear, and we move forward. Kent moves his hand underneath my sweatshirt and rests it on my stomach, and the first ting of anticipation hits me. I’m so not prepared for this. His touch feels like a gasp of fresh air when I thought I was going to drown.

  “You’re like a dream,” he murmurs. Light as butterfly wings, he traces his lips down my neck. He stretches the neckline and makes love to my shoulder.

  I cannot move. My stomach flutters against the hand that holds it, and he pulls me closer. I feel captured, and I let out a soft moan. His cock stirs against my backside, and a flood of heat fills me, spills out into my panties. When he inches his hand higher under my shirt, I jerk.

  “Let me,” he murmurs.

  He tongues the inside of my ear, and I cannot say no to him. One hand grips my neck; the other pushes my bra out of the way. A moment later he cups one mound, and it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I let out the breath I’d been holding in a long-drawn-out sigh. He brushes his thumb over my nipple, and that tiny ping melts me to the core.

  “The driver,” I gasp. But I’d probably let Kent fuck me right in front of him at this point.

  “Privacy glass.” He bites that place where shoulder joins neck. My legs are already spread wide from just the way we’re sitting, and I imagine him pushing that hand down under my waistband. But then he starts in again with his lips and all thinking stops.

  The driver slows, stops, and puts the car in park. A moment later the engine cuts off. Kent rights my clothes.

  I reach for the blindfold.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I haven’t given you permission.”

  Permission. It’s like a song of sweetness.

  I’m not wearing a coat, and I’m very cold as Kent carries me across what smells like wet concrete. No snow cracks underfoot. Are we in an underground garage? He pulls open a metal door, nudges through, and allows it to slam behind him.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He shushes me. Softly, caressingly, but it’s still a shush. He adjusts me against his chest and begins to climb a staircase.

  It’s a testamen
t to what good shape he is in that he’s carrying a hundred-pound girl up a flight of stairs. Up several flights of stairs. There are so many twists and turns I lose count. Then Kent pounds twice on another metal door. It opens.

  I hear feet snap together; someone is saluting. The door clangs shut behind us and instantly the chill disappears. It smells…damp. Not moldy damp, but earthy somehow.

  “Almost there.” Again he kisses my temple.

  “Almost where?”

  “Home,” is his answer.

  What is he talking about? Do I have a new apartment? Am I in the crazy home? Is there staff to take care of me so I won’t be a burden to my mother? Sharp disappointment pierces me. This is no gift. I need my mother. I need someone who loves me. Also, there’s Ayden. He says she’s gone. Gone as in not here right now, or gone as in forever? I wish he’d explain. This not knowing is killing me.

  We pass down one hall and around to another. He goes another fifty paces. “Open the door, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir!” Several locks click, and then Kent whisks me inside. He sets me on my feet, and since I wear no shoes, I feel warm, thick carpet between my toes.

  He unties the knot that binds the cloth. It falls free, and I open my eyes. I’m standing on the biggest, softest flokati rug I’ve ever seen. My toes literally curl in and lose themselves. The room is so light—electric lights! It’s a living room, and there is absolutely nothing Biltmore-ish about it. Pale yellow walls, different shades of green in the furniture, with purple and orange accents. There’s no possible way a person could be depressed in here. “Where are we?”

  “I told you. Home.”

  “Whose home?”

  “Ours.”

  I want it. I want it so badly, but he’s crazy if he thinks it’ll work. “You don’t want me. You want—”

  “Come here.” Oh yeah. That military voice.

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  “Bianca!”

  I go still. I could come just hearing that tone in his voice.

  He looks me up and down, circles me, runs his hands down my buttocks and thighs. He pulls the sweatshirt over my head and drops it over the back of a chair. He unhooks my bra and throws that aside too. He circles back around.