Heartless: Merciless Book 2

by Winters, W.

“A few hours, maybe.”

  Her expression falls as she slowly picks herself back up. She only nods in understanding as she covers herself again.

  “Do you want anything while I’m out?” I ask her out of instinct, wanting to see her eyes on me again. Wanting her to show me more of this vulnerability. I can offer her so much more than she ever dreamed.

  The very thought spikes awareness through me.

  She’s the one with control. Topping from the bottom. Sly girl. I need to take it back, for her own good. She needs me to have control, even if she doesn’t want to give it to me. Even if she has no idea how much she needs to give it to me.

  “No,” she answers me with a small shake of the head. “Thank you, though.”

  “Manners and all,” I say to play with her as I leave the room.

  Her sweetness numbs the thoughts of demanding more from her, but only so much.

  Chapter 7

  Aria

  Hours have passed since Carter left. The smell of garlic is still fresh on my fingers as I head into the dimly lit wine cellar. With a flick and a click, the cellar lights up and a beautiful array of wine bottles shines in the light.

  An easy breath leaves me at the thought of getting lost at the bottom of a bottle. One glass or two, and I’ll still have my wits with me.

  But the wits can go fuck themselves tonight. I don’t know what to think or feel. I don’t know anything anymore. The memories of what once was and what I am today are playing tricks on my sanity.

  I’m acutely aware of it but helpless to do anything about it. That’s the worst part.

  That, and how I feel about Carter.

  It’s an ever-changing relationship, but I’m fully aware of the cracked wall between us. He’s pretending it’s not there, and maybe I’m a fool to think something has changed, but I see the pain and sadness behind his eyes. He can’t hide it any longer.

  He’s broken. It takes a broken soul to know one.

  Even what I’ve been through in only the last twenty-four hours, pales in comparison to how broken and shattered Carter’s been for years. And I desperately want to heal him. I want to take his pain away more than I’ve ever wanted to heal myself.

  Deep inside, there’s the inkling of some other part of him. If only I could show him.

  The pain that claws at my heart only grows at the thought, but with a deep breath I let it all go. I don’t know what I am to him anymore. But I care for him regardless, especially after last night.

  And until I know what haunts him for sure, there’s not a damn thing I can do to change anything. And so, wine it is.

  I crouch down at the first row, gripping onto the steel bar of the rack and glancing at each of the labels. Pinot noir. Burgundy. Each of them. I love a good glass of red with spaghetti and Bolognese, and right now, I prefer Cabernet. The next row makes my lips curl up, for the first time in God knows how long.

  I can pretend that there’s nothing wrong. I can pretend for a short moment. I’m good at doing that. At continuing to go through the motions even though deep inside, I know nothing is okay and there’s no way to right the wrongs.

  The heavy bottle of dark red wine means I can have a moment. A small, seemingly insignificant moment, to simply breathe.

  Well, only while I stay in the kitchen. The thought steals the happiness from my lips and as I stand, I feel my muscles tense once again. At least, until Carter comes back.

  When Carter leaves, I’m scared to go anywhere other than the four rooms I’m familiar with. The den, his office, the kitchen, or his bedroom. This place is huge and I’m curious to see more of it. But his brothers are here. Somewhere. And they’re the enemy.

  It’s easy to forget when I’m with Carter. He has a compelling power over me. Just being in his presence sets my body on fire and I move with him. Every step, every breath.

  But the moment he’s gone, I’m so very aware of everything.

  “I just need to eat, to drink…” I whisper as I flick off the light and head back with the bottle in my hand to retrieve my dinner from the kitchen island, the aroma wafting to greet me as I shut the door.

  But the second I hear the door close, my heart drops at the sound of another person in the kitchen.

  “Damn, this smells good,” Jase says as he walks closer to the large pot sitting next to the stove. I’ve already mixed the pasta and meat sauce. He towers over it, picking up the serving spoon and smiling down at my dinner.

  My grip nearly slips on the bottle; my palms are so sweaty.

  “You make enough for all of us?” he asks me with a charismatic smile.

  A truly charming expression graces his face. With his stubble growing out longer than I’ve seen before, he looks different, but the similarities between him and Carter are still striking.

  I can feel myself swallow before I attempt to answer him, but just the sight of him reminds me of last night. I can see him sitting in the chair to my left, smiling while my gaze drifts back to Stephan.

  My heart pounds in my chest like it did last night in the shower. I can feel the anxiety and adrenaline mix and it takes everything in me to stand up straight.

  “Whoa,” Jase says as the spoon hits the steel pot and he practically jogs around the island to come closer to me. As soon as I register that’s what he’s doing, I instinctively take a step back, my shoulder hitting the closed cellar door. Every time I blink, I see Stephan. Sitting at the table, glancing between Carter and me. Waiting for me to kill. Waiting for me to become a murderer.

  He knew. They all knew. And they let Romano walk away.

  With both hands raised, Jase widens his eyes and slows his steps, even dropping his stance a few inches and crouching down. “You look a little dizzy,” he says softly. “You already have a bottle?” he asks me and to my disbelief, a short huff of a genuine laugh leaves me.

  Of course, he would think that I’m drunk and that’s why seeing him would cause me to react with significant panic.

  It’s not that I saw him only last night, a few rooms away as I murdered a man who’d haunted me for years and continues to do so. It’s not that I’m still forced to stay here even though I so badly wish I could run home and hide in my room from all the terrors that plague me. My body heats with anxiety, but the knowledge that I have a grasp on the present gives me much needed strength.

  He takes another step closer and I shake my head, pushing off of the door and going around Jase. One of my hands grips the neck of the bottle, the other runs through my hair. “I’m just having a moment,” I finally answer him weakly although my back is to him as I walk back to the counter where my wine glass is.

  My heart races again. It won’t fucking stop. Off and on all day, it’s been like this. I need Carter. The bottle hits the counter hard and it’s only then that I risk a look over my shoulder at Jase.

  Jase’s eyes are narrowed and he’s still standing where I left him. I can’t take my eyes away from his as he pins me in place with his gaze. Much like Carter does, but Jase is assessing me.

  I have to give him something, but all I can think of is to answer his earlier question. Whether or not I made enough food for everyone else.

  “I made the entire package, so there’s definitely enough.” With the answer coming out easily, I turn back to the wine and opener. Easily uncorking it as I talk to him although I can feel my hands start to tremble again, and my heart threatens to trot out of my chest.

  “I wasn’t sure if anyone would want a plate, but I was going to save it for leftovers if not.” I can hear Jase walk back toward the pot slowly, even though he’s still assessing me. The second the wine glass is full, I lift it to my lips.

  “So, wine is your therapy?” Jase asks as he stalks over to stand only a few feet from me but leans his lower back against the counter.

  “We all have our vices,” I offer him and lick my lips. The sweet taste offers little aid to the chaos coursing through my blood. But his soft expression does something to me. It loosens something h
ard and sharp that was lodged deep inside of my chest, suffocating me.

  “I get it,” he tells me, his forehead smoothing as he turns and reaches for another glass in the cabinet. “Mind if I have one?”

  The shake of my head is weak, but not because I don’t want to share. I don’t mind at all, especially, if it will give me a chance to win over Jase. I remember a thought I had that feels like forever ago, a thought about using Jase to gain my freedom. Or maybe to ask for mercy for my family.

  No, the shake of my head is weak because Declan joins us, striding in as if I called a meeting.

  Jase stands beside me, glass in hand as Declan takes Jase’s former spot, repeating the motion Jase did when he first walked into the kitchen. “Oh, damn,” he says over the pot with a reverence in his voice. “You made us dinner?” Declan asks with a boyish grin.

  That’s not exactly the truth, but I don’t deny it. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it, but there’s plenty.”

  Declan grabs the plates, the clinking ceramic filling the room as Jase gives me space, walking to the other side of the U-shaped island and leaning against it, opposite me. The thought of being in the room with Carter’s brothers scared me literally only minutes ago. But an ease washes over me as I watch Declan make a plate and then point the spoon to Jase, who answers the unspoken question.

  “Yeah, I want one, I haven’t eaten yet.”

  I lean forward a little off the counter, ready to ask him to make me a plate too, but Declan speaks first.

  “You didn’t poison it, right?” Declan asks with a shit-eating grin. “You know I’ve got to check,” he jokes and then makes Jase’s plate.

  And there goes the sense of ease and the smile that graced my lips. It washes away like a lone shell on the shore before the tide.

  I’m still the enemy. I will always be the enemy. And that’s what they’ll always be to me.

  I offer him a tight smile and force down the well of sadness and pity. “Not yet, you got here too soon.” A tight knot forms in my throat, but I drown it with the wine as Declan chuckles, still piling spaghetti onto the plate. Bastard tears prick at my eyes and all I can think is that I wish either Carter were here or that I was back at home, under the comfort of my blanket.

  “I don’t think she’s eaten yet,” Jase tells Declan in a tone that has no trace of the humor I forced into my response. He grabs the two plates Declan’s made and motions for me to follow him to the small table to eat in the kitchen. Declan looks shocked at Jase’s reaction and the seriousness in his tone and objects to him taking both plates, one of which was his. His forehead creases with confusion… until he sees me.

  I’ve always been shit at hiding what I’m feeling. My father used to tell me I’d fare better in this world if I could learn to lie.

  My body moves unwillingly to follow Jase, but at least I grabbed the bottle. I can’t look at Declan as he watches me. I know he sees through the faint humor I veiled my emotions with in my response.

  “Are you okay eating here?” Jase asks. The legs of the chair make a scratching noise on the floor as he pulls it out for me. I stare at the chair for a moment, marveling at the kindness while questioning his intentions.

  He feels bad for me. That’s all I can think. He’s being nice because I’m wounded. That’s all this is.

  “I’d rather be alone,” I finally answer him, finding my voice and feeling the cords in my neck tensing as I look back at him. I have to force my words out of my dry throat and they hurt as I do. “I just need to be alone for a moment.” My breath shudders and the back of my eyes prick as I see the visions of last night again. Only three rooms down. The grand dining room is only three doors down from here.

  “Please,” I say quickly in a whisper and place the wine down on the table with as much grace as I can.

  With both hands on the table, he looks over his shoulder and says something to Declan, but I don’t hear what.

  “You going to be okay?” he asks me as I hear Declan’s footsteps leaving the kitchen.

  “How long does it take to be okay after murdering someone? Even if you feel it was justified in every way?” I ask Jase and he merely looks past me at Declan’s exit before bringing his eyes to mine.

  Jase doesn’t answer me; he simply looks back at me as if I hadn’t spoken at all.

  I start to think he’ll leave me like that, taking his plate with him, but instead, he asks me his own question, “You want me to grab another bottle?” to which I can only nod in response.

  He’s kind enough to grant me both the loneliness and the second bottle I desire.

  Chapter 8

  Carter

  You were supposed to be gentle with her.

  Agitation leaves me in a singular deep groan. I don’t respond to Jase’s text and I don’t intend to. He doesn’t recognize the severity of the situation. He doesn’t know shit about her.

  He doesn’t know what she needs.

  The bitter thought stays with me as I shut down my phone and quietly enter the kitchen. I know she’s still sitting where she was an hour ago and just as I expect, she doesn’t see me come in.

  She never does. She always gives me the opportunity to watch her, to see what she’s like when she doesn’t know I’m looking.

  I’m hardly ever disappointed, but watching as she fills her glass again, the pleasure of being in her presence again is dulled.

  It’s becoming a crutch. If she knows I’ll be gone, she drinks. It’s only happened twice, but still, I notice. Part of me recognizes her condition. Her situation. I realize it may be easy for her to give in to a vice and let herself slip somewhere where the pain is absent, and the choices are meaningless. But I don’t want it to become a habit.

  With a twist of her finger, she pulls my necklace she wears up closer to her lips, letting the diamonds and pearls play there in between sips of wine and absentminded hums.

  Her lips part slightly as she sways in her seat and stares at a black and white photograph that’s in the hall. She hums against the gemstones and I wish I knew what she was thinking. The sadness and tortured stare tell me she’s still there, my little songbird with clipped wings.

  I don’t recognize the song that she hums. I never do. Sometimes it sounds more like a conversation than a song.

  I follow her gaze as I walk closer to her; the black and white photograph is a picture of the side of our old house. The one that burned down. The one that her father had burned down, expecting the four of us to be inside and sleeping.

  I feel a sudden pinch along the edge of my heart, reminding me the damn thing is there.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask Aria, ignoring the pain in my chest and causing her to jump from the tone of my deep voice.

  Her expression is soft, as are her eyes when she turns in her seat. There’s even the hint of happiness on her lips.

  “You’re back,” she says and there’s a lightness in her statement. She can’t hide the relief that slurs with her words. And that bit of disappointment I have at her drunkenness returns.

  “I said I’d be back tonight.” It’s all I offer her as I pull out the chair next to her, letting the feet drag across the floor noisily.

  “What were you doing?” she asks me with a pleasantness that seems genuine.

  She’s naïve to think I do anything pleasant this late at night.

  I was ending the life of a thief. A drug addict who bought more and more of SL and wouldn’t answer a simple question.

  What was he doing with it?

  It’s a rare day that Jase can’t get a response from someone. He’s good at what he does. He left the junkie to bleed out and waited for me to come. It’s my name they fear the most.

  If pain and the threat of death can’t get an answer, true fear is quick to provide one.

  And it did. The only word the prick spoke before life slipped from him was a name. Marcus. All I got was a name. But it was all I needed.

  It’s a name I’m growing to despise more and more as
the days go by. Daniel used to have a good reputation with Marcus, a man who lives in the shadows and never shows himself. But that was before he found Addison again. Since then Marcus has yet to be found, but apparently, he’s been busy.

  “Work,” I answer, and my short response tugs her smile down.

  “There are leftovers,” she offers me even though the smile’s vanished. I can feel how the sweetness inside of her has hollowed out.

  As she reaches across the table to play with the stem of her glass I ask her, “You made me dinner?”

  “If you didn’t all look so alike, I’d know you are brothers by the way you react to a damn meal,” she offers with a somewhat playful nature.

  I can’t pin down what she’s thinking. Or what she thinks of me as I stare at her.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Since you’ve had Bolognese?” she asks as if my words are nonsense.

  “Since someone’s made us dinner,” I tell her and think of my mother. Once again, Aria looks at me as if she’s read my mind. The pretending to be happy and acting like things are normal slips away.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I choose not to respond. Sorry doesn’t take anything back.

  “I like to cook,” she offers after a moment, breaking up the silence and tension. “If you’d like… I don’t mind cooking more?”

  I used to avoid the kitchen and dining room when my mother got sick. It’s where she died. None of us liked to go to the kitchen. It was better to be in and out of that room as fast as we could. In a way, I should be thankful Talvery burned that house down. It was nothing but a dark memory.

  Her slender fingers move up and down the glass and I expect her to drink it, but instead, she pushes it toward me. “Would you like some?”

  I shake my head without speaking, wondering if she knows what I think about her habit.

  “I don’t like it when you’re gone,” she says before pulling the glass toward her again.

  “Why’s that?” I ask her, grateful to talk about anything other than the shit going on outside of this house. Enemies are growing in number each day.