Chapter 15
2143words
Walking through my rose garden is a habit of mine. There's nothing here but the sky above and green leaves from every angle. Free of distractions, it's my favorite place to go when I need to think. I've come here a lot lately.
Why did Layla send me away? I was pissed at the audacity of her command. But one look at the severity in her eyes, and I knew there was a reason for her to throw me out. Thinking back, I recall the way that Camila was acting. The dimple at the base of her throat was flexing madly as she stared at the dresses. She can act strong all she wants, but I know what fear looks like. I was raised around it.
'—incredible tits!" a male voice cackles.
'I know, man, I saw them," another replies.
The voices come from just ahead of me, where the garden circles a small water fountain. I recognize two of my soldiers. Slowing down, I peer around the corner, confirming it's Kostya and Niro. They're leaning on the weather-worn stones that make up the vase shape of the fountain. There's no uniform for my soldiers; Kostya is dressed in faded jeans and a long-sleeved green shirt. His shaved head exposes a small scar by his right temple, where a bullet fragment skirted his flesh.
Niro has opted for black slacks with an ankle-length tan jacket. The outfit hangs off him; he's one of my lankier men. The only thing they share in common is their weapons. Both have a pistol strapped to their hip.
Kostya sneers, giving Niro a shove. 'Nah, you didn't feel them though. When she was pushed into me, I got a good feel." He pantomimes grabbing the air.
'Yeah, and then she made you cry like a bitch with her little kick." Niro laughs.
Tension creeps along my spine, sending veins of suspicion through the nape of my neck. Are they talking about …
'She may be a bitch, but she's a sexy bitch," Kostya says. His hands fall to his sides as he shrugs. 'She didn't hurt me. Besides, with her being stuck here, I'll get my chance at paying her back for that little stunt."
'Will you now?" I ask.
Both men stand straight, jerking around to openly gawk at me. Their fear is palpable. Keeping my hands in my pockets, I walk calmly toward them. They straighten even further, like their backbones have become crowbars. 'My pakhan!" Niro sputters. 'We didn't know you were there!"
'Did I hear the two of you right? Were the two of you speaking lecherously about my fiancée in front of me?" I smirk, cocking my head.
Kostya is gleaming with sweat, his Adam's apple rocking up and down with every swallow. 'Your—fiancée? But I thought … You know a woman like her isn't …"
'Isn't what? Good enough?" I'm almost upon them. 'Would you like to finish what you were telling Niro, Kostya?" I loom over my men. 'Tell me how you intend to pay her back. Use detail."
'Pakhan, please," Kostya says. He's no longer rigid, his knees going soft as butter. 'I meant no offense. It was just talk."
'Did you forget what I told you last night about not harming her?"
Niro and Kostya share a wary look. 'You swore you'd break every bone in our hands, Asher Volkov," Kostya says.
'I didn't touch her. I didn't!" Niro insists. 'Kostya was the one who felt her up!"
'Svoloch," the other man growls. 'It was an accident!" He appeals to me with wide eyes and a nervous smile. 'Asher Volkov, I didn't hurt her. I only did as you ordered."
I notice they always resort to using my patronymic when they think they can get me to forgive them. Even though I've long disregarded that archaic custom in my life.
'That's true," I admit. 'But I also remember ordering you to respect her." Rubbing my jaw, I ponder my men for a minute that stretches on, agonizing them. 'I won't break every bone in your hand, because you only touched her on my orders. I'm a man of my word." Kostya slouches as his terror melts away.
In that split second, I grab his throat, slamming him into the dirt with all of the force I can. He cries out, but it's a weak sound—the air has been knocked out of him.
Standing over him, I watch how he stretches his arms in front, trying to get his bearings. He's attempting to crawl away. Pathetic. Lifting my foot, I aim carefully. Kostya screeches when my heel crushes down on his left hand, shattering at least three of his fingers.
'There," I say, my voice dwarfed by his cries of pain. 'I only broke half the bones in your hand instead. Let that be a warning."
Kostya rolls over, writhing as Niro watches in despair. I lock eyes with him; he snaps to attention. 'Asher Volkov, what should I do?"
'Take him to a hospital."
Niro bends down, guiding Kostya, heaving and cradling his broken fingers, to his feet.
'Kostya," I call out to him.
He looks at me anxiously.
'I have no use for a soldier who can't fight. Camila thwarted you with ease at Topher's when you had access to both your hands."
Kostya's face pales when he hears me. Sweat beads on his face, and I know his mind is already racing to the worst possible ending for himself.
'Asher Volkov, please."
'Remember," I add flatly, 'that my orders to you are in effect even when you think I'm not around." My voice darkens. 'Especially when I'm not around."
Kostya bows his head, shuffling away with Niro. 'Yes, my pakhan. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
'Today," I hiss, 'you get to live. But do it again, and I'll slit your throat from ear to ear. Now get the fuck out of here."
I watch them go until they vanish toward my house. Turning back, I consider the scuff marks in the dirt from where I attacked Kostya. It's true that he was being crude about Camila … but I'm surprised at my reaction. I tell myself that it's important to keep my men in check, lest I risk being overthrown because of showing any weakness.
But I can't recall the last time I was so aggressive over something so minor.
Thinking about how he pretended to fondle Camila sends my blood simmering again. I acted instantly, barely keeping myself from punching him in the jaw. The restraint I managed was a challenge. But it shouldn't have been. Camila is only a pawn … How can I let her affect me like this?
My shoes crunch on the loose gravel that covers the path. One of the white roses has begun to shed its petals. Bending down, I lift one up, holding it up in the sunlight. It's as pale as she was. I'm not a fool. I know Camila doesn't want to marry me. I gave her a ring, not a choice. I refuse to consider her wishes in the matter. I've fought too hard to get close to defeating Yannick. Camila's stage fright isn't my concern.
'The weather is finally getting too cold for them," Layla says behind me.
Dropping the petal, I turn toward her with a shrug. 'It was only a matter of time. Did she pick out a dress?"
Layla arches her thin brows. 'You don't want to know if she's okay?'"
'Just answer the question."
'Yes, she chose a dress."
Nodding, I reach for my phone. 'Good. There's still a lot to do. We can't spend hours on every little task." I start to walk by her; Layla shifts to block my path. Frowning harshly, I wait for her to move.
'Asher Volkov." She doesn't budge. 'This marriage … Is it wise?"
'Layla, I'm exhausted from arguing with Camila. Don't take her side."
'It's not about sides."
'Then what?" I snort. 'Let me guess. She cried until you felt bad for what I'm making her do."
Pursing her lips, she tugs at her left earring gently. The sapphire twinkles in the midday sun. I can't believe she wears those daily, even now. 'I'm worried about you."
My neck twinges. 'I'm fine."
'Are you?" Gazing up at me through her short lashes, she waits a beat. 'Have you prepared yourself to face the demons of your past?"
'My demons are dead," I spit. 'Nothing can hurt me anymore. Especially not the past."
Closing her eyes, she hangs her head. 'That's exactly what I was afraid you would say."
Drawing myself up, I fill my chest with air, like I'm prepping for a fight. In a way, I am. Layla is using insidious tactics on me that only she is capable of. She meets my stare, then wordlessly steps to the side, making room for me to exit the garden.
I don't move a muscle. 'You're treading dangerous ground by speaking to me about this, Layla."
'I'm aware."
'And yet you persist. The things you're bringing up are nothing more than memories. And memories are dead."
'Yet if there's one thing capable of inflicting everlasting pain, it's the past."
'It's been ten years."
Her chin dips until it touches her collarbone, eyes on the gravel at her feet. 'Time isn't enough to heal every wound."
The snarl that passes my lips could have been made by an animal. Stalking around Layla, I swing my arms as I stride away from her. Each footfall creates more distance. By the time I'm near the exit of the gardens, her words should be softer than a moth's wings. Instead, her voice is a bellow. It's as if she's on my back, talking right into my eardrum.
'Whether you want to admit it or not, you've never been able to confront what happened."
Whirling around, I stare at her. She's a speck of color among the roses. Her solemn face watches me. Layla has the power to rend my heart with a few cutting words. I have nothing to say in return. Even if she gave me days to prepare, I wouldn't know how to respond.
Quickening my pace, I leave her behind. The leaves around me grow denser, roses pressing in on me like my world is shrinking. As fast as I walk, I can't escape her foreboding comments. Thorns snag me, drawing blood, but I ignore them. Pain on the outside is nothing. It's the internal pain that makes my confidence buckle.
The past is meaningless. I was haunted once, but not anymore.
I live in the present. I won't look back.
If I do, I'll risk seeing things that could break me.
A face flashes through my memories. Gentle hands cradle mine, a warmth greater than the sun promising me pure joy … assuring me a future flush with endless bliss.
The hands grow cold.
They slip through my grip.
Another thorn slices my skin. The memories are changing, warping into a darkness that creates waves in my guts. Gunfire parades in my vision. Fire, flames, smoke. Men dying as they choose sides.
I remember becoming the pakhan of the Grachev Bratva. I remember receiving the inked stars on my knees and shoulders. The power they brought … the rage that drove me to claim the throne. The cost of everything far higher than I could have ever predicted.
Stumbling from my garden, I wheeze heavily, hands resting on my thighs. Bent in half, I look up at my massive mansion. Camila's window is easy to find. I know every room here, inside and out. I can't see her, but the way she looked earlier as she walked the rows of wedding dresses is a strong image in my brain. The nervous way she touched the fabric … When I think of it now, I feel a strange sense of protectiveness.
I don't want her to be afraid.
I see it now; Camila in the dress she chose, standing in the aisle, smiling at me. It's easy to imagine. After days of her bared teeth, I saw the potential for her happiness. It happened last night when she bit into the chocolate chip cookies. I brought her that gift; I made her come alive. That power was addictive.
A joy comparable to the bitter memory that refuses to fade swallows my heart. Gripping my shirt, I clench my jaw until my skull throbs. Everything Layla said floods back to me. The past … my demons … the torture of it all.
Is the future I'm choosing going to ravage what's left of my soul?
I want Layla to be wrong. As I stare at Camila's window, recalling the war that's on my doorstep … the inevitable bloodshed …
I don't believe she is.
