Chapter 9
2104words
I'm stuck with a murderer, and I've just agreed to remain with him indefinitely.
That's Asher. He didn't try to deny it. If anything, he seemed sickeningly proud of his capability to kill. There was no hint of remorse in his eyes or voice as he recounted his version of what happened by the docks the other night.
How can I trust anything he says? His story about Yannick could easily be a manipulation. But strangely, I do believe Asher. My gut tells me he has no reason to lie about this. If he intended to harm me or my mother, he could have done it already. That's why there must be some truth in his promise to protect me.
But I refuse to feel indebted to him.
Not to a man like him.
The revelation that he's Bratva actually makes sense. The wealth, owning Topher's and who knows what else—this mansion, and his men. Even the way the waitress seemed terrified when she pointed out he was in the VIP, despite her earlier assertiveness in dealing with a man who touched her.
Honestly, I feel foolish for not considering this sooner.
My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, startling me so much I nearly tumble off the bed. I've been sitting on the edge, unable to relax, nervously chewing my thumbnail. I tried to call earlier in the car, but amid the chaos, I forgot I even had it with me. My credit card and driver's license are in the wallet on the back. Not that they'll be of any use here.
Asher took my car keys but left my phone. The message is clear: I can call for help, but no one will come.
Glancing at the screen, I see a text from my mother.
Mom: How's everything with Asher? You've been gone a while.
I curl into a ball, shoulders tense up to my ears. What should I tell her? Asher claimed this Yannick guy is targeting us and offered protection. Does that mean he has his men watching her right now? Should I warn her about the situation?
No... it would only terrify her. If she senses danger, she'll call the police. And if the police get involved, it will only complicate things. I have no doubt Asher has some corrupt cops in his pocket. If he's keeping tabs on Mom...
No. The best thing to do is to reassure her that everything is okay. And I need more information before I do anything risky.
Me: Drinks went great! I ran into Adriana, and I'm going to crash at her place. Don't want to drive and get a DUI!
Mom: Oh, good idea. Will you tell me everything in the morning?
Shaking my phone in frustration, I try to come up with a believable story. I'm not sure when Asher will let me leave his mansion. I need to buy myself some time.
Me: Adriana will want to get brunch, you know her. OBSESSED with mimosas.
Mom: Haha, that's true. I think she has a problem.
Me: Yeah …
She's not the only one. My problem is a bit bigger, in fact.
Mom: Stay safe, malyshka! Talk soon! Love you!
Me: Love you, mamochka!
It's not going to be possible to keep this charade up for long. I live with my mom, so spending more than a day away isn't the norm. I'll need Asher to let me visit her to keep up the lie that nothing is going on. That, or a grand lie to excuse myself for vanishing.
I could tell her I'm taking a vacation. A small trip away, something to ease my mind about the transition of losing our dance studio. She'd understand that, right? But the thought of lying to my mom feels manipulative. Then again, what lie doesn't?
And frankly, it's not the first time I've lied to her.
Two taps, and then the bedroom door swings open to reveal a woman older than my mother. Her short hair is streaked white and gray, like a birch tree in winter. She's wearing a stiff dress the color of mud that covers her from her wrists to her ankles. The only color on her is the twin sapphire studs in her ears. They match the discerning eyes that follow my hand as I shove my phone under a pillow.
'Dobriy vecher," she says. 'You must be Camila. I'm Layla Nazarova, the head of the household staff."
'Dobriy vecher," I greet her cautiously. If she works for Asher, she's as much of an enemy as the men who roughed me up earlier.
'You don't need to keep secrets, Camila. It's fine for you to use your phone."
Hesitating, I slide my hands into my lap, leaving my phone hidden under the pillow. 'Seems weird for a hostage to be allowed to make phone calls at will."
'I assure you, Asher doesn't mind."
My lips twist into a cynical smile. 'Did he send you in here to spy on me?"
'I came to check if you needed anything."
'A one-way ticket to Cabo would be fantastic right about now."
She narrows her eyes, not smiling at my joke. 'I understand if you're not happy with the arrangement, but if you take a minute to consider how lucky you are, your mindset will change."
I clutch the blankets while quivering with laughter. 'Sorry, did you call this an arrangement? He literally kidnapped me and is holding me prisoner."
'This is nothing like that."
Lifting my arms, I gesture at the walls dramatically. 'I'm not allowed to leave. What else do you call this but a prison?"
She's steady as a mountain in posture and tone. 'Asher is keeping you safe."
'That's what he says," I mutter.
Pursing her lips, Layla gazes at me down the slope of her elegant nose. 'A caged bird yearns for freedom without realizing the dangers that stalk every beat of its wings beyond its cage. You know nothing about what else is out there, Camila."
'You mean Yannick? Yeah. He told me already."
'Then you know why he cannot allow you to leave."
Scoffing, I jump off the bed; I can't hold still anymore, so I begin to pace. 'He loves playing games with me! I can't stand people like that. All my life, my family has done things the honest way!"
'I'm sure." Layla ticks her head a single degree to the right. 'It's understandable for children to be naive about their own parents."
My heel slams down hard on the floor. I pivot to face her. 'What the fuck does that mean?" Her lack of emotion is perplexing. I can't get a bead on what she's feeling, what her intent is.
With her hands crossed daintily at her middle, she approaches me. When I retreat, she freezes where she is.
'Asher doesn't seek someone out without a good reason. He most certainly doesn't bring women like … you," she frowns disapprovingly at me, 'back to his mansion. You are here for a reason, and that reason is kept from you for an even better one."
Heat washes up into my face. 'Excuse me?" Women like me?
'Good night, Camila." Bowing her head, she pivots, exiting the room as smoothly as she arrived. I watch for a moment, unsure how to interpret her cryptic words. As much as that woman got under my skin, part of me wishes she'd come back. It was nice to talk to someone … And she definitely knows a lot about Asher.
Asher ...
His smirking face wanders into my mind. He's awful, no question, and his handsome features make that worse. The longer I dwell on him, the more my thoughts shift from disgust to intrigue. Layla was practically begging me to trust him. She thinks he has a good reason for bringing me here, something worth forgiving his methods.
Craning my neck, I rub it with a groan. I'm sticky from all my fearful sweating. This night has been a trial on my mind and body. I walk over to the attached bathroom and take a peek. It's glorious, better than any hotel I've stayed at. Granted, I never stayed in any truly fancy place—Dad would never waste such money on trivial things—but I've browsed my share of TikTok.
The bathroom exudes luxury with its pale blue tiles adorned with geometric gold patterns. The sink, a single piece of sleek black porcelain shaped like a shell, complements the glimmering faucet. Cobalt wallpaper provides a striking backdrop against fluffy white towels that stand out like clouds in a stormy sky. However, my focus shifts to the shower, and I make a direct line towards it, drawn to the spaciousness reminiscent of my bedroom back home.
Turning the handle, I quickly shed my clothes, letting them fall to the tiled floor. I step under the cascading water before the steam fully envelops the space, relishing the pressure that eases the tension in my muscles, prompting a satisfied groan.
I might despise Asher, but I can't deny the comfort of his home.
The shower shelves hold small bottles of expensive shampoo. As I lather my hair and scrub my skin, I linger under the water until my fingers prune. Here, for a fleeting moment, I can pretend that my life hasn't been thrown into turmoil, that I haven't been abducted, or that I'm not consumed by thoughts of murderers and stalkers, or the desperate need to protect my mother. All that exists is the soothing rush of hot water enveloping me, cleansing both body and mind.
When I finally turn off the tap, I wrap one towel around my hair and use another to dry off. The mirror is fogged, a sight I prefer; I'm not ready to confront my own reflection. For now, I just want to remain anonymous, a pair of weary legs moving over cool tiles.
The bedroom air greets me with a chill, prompting me to reach for a heavy robe and cinch it tightly around myself. Why is it suddenly so cold? I glance towards the window, realizing I hadn't closed it properly during my earlier exploration. As I move towards the curtains to secure it, movement outside catches my eye.
Down in the driveway, two figures come into view. One is Layla, but my attention is drawn to Asher leaning against the Escalade. I can see his face clearly, but Layla's is obscured. Goosebumps prickle my arms as I watch them interact. Carefully, I nudge the window open a bit wider, straining to hear their conversation.
As I observe, Asher flashes a mild smile at the older woman. She reaches out, gently taking his hand in a gesture that resembles a mother's touch towards her son. He doesn't pull away. Intrigued by their unexpected tenderness, I press my cheek against the cool glass for a better view.
Suddenly, I notice Layla pointing upwards—towards my room. Asher follows her gesture, causing me to dart sideways and hide behind the curtains. My heart races, and the cold room suddenly feels stiflingly hot. Did he see me? No, the curtains should have shielded me from view.
His dark, piercing eyes swim through my vision. I shut my own eyes, but I can still see them. Asher has a way of looking through you. He shreds your defenses with a mere glance, until you're exposed at his pleasure without any secrets to hide. Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself. I close the window fully. When I take one final glance out of it, the two of them are gone.
He acted so nice to her. Why? Thumping heavily onto the bed, I flatten out, gazing at the canopy above. It doesn't matter. He's a monster. He wouldn't deny that fact, so why should I? It bothers me, though, that Layla is so comfortable with him. I want to hate her the way I hate Asher; it's harder to do that. She's strict and mysterious, but my intuition tells me she's not a bad person.
Forget thinking like that, I scold myself. Grabbing a pillow, I flop it over my face. Asher's eyes still linger, the way staring at the sun creates a lasting impression behind your eyelids. You can't trust him. You can't trust anyone who works for him. Don't be an idiot, Camila!
As I sink into the soft embrace of the bed, I make a vow to myself:
No matter what happens in this place, no matter what he promises or tempts me with …
I will refuse to submit to Asher.
