Chapter 66
1536words
Yannick is staring at his hands. He links his fingers, twists them, creating every possible position his joints can manage.
'Once upon a time," he starts, 'I had a son. Pyotr." His eyes close like someone threw salt in them, his lips making a sour frown. 'I loved him more than anything or anyone in this world."
He had another son? The past tense is a megaphone. My blood seems to thicken in my veins.
Fondness enters his eyes, warming them. 'Pyotr was always a wild child. That's natural, of course. He was a prince of the Bratva, and my future heir." His hands twist, the brittle mood returning tenfold. 'Back then, Asher was my brigadier. I trusted him with everything. With my life and my son's life."
My stomach drops out from beneath me. I know where this is going, and I need to stop it. I want to clasp my hands over his mouth or run away while covering my ears. But I can't move, and Yannick presses on.
'He was supposed to keep my boy safe." Those hands wring until all the blood flees his knuckles. He locks his eyes on me, the intensity, the pure sadness, stealing the air from my lungs. 'And instead, he killed him. Butchered my son in cold blood and left the body to rot. He taught me loss. Honor demanded that I act. A child for a child. That was why I had to do it. That was why Kristina had to watch her child die inside of her."
I snap my head from side to side. 'No. You're lying to me. That has to be it." Asher would never kill someone he was supposed to protect! Not a child!
Yannick sits up straighter. 'I don't lie to my children."
Roman shrieks—we both look up. He's off the swing, running around the play structure, chasing imaginary friends and foes. He resembles my mother when he smiles. They share the same dimples. But seeing shadows of her on his face only makes me remember the bruises on her body.
'Why do you hurt her?" I whisper.
He keeps watching his son as he speaks, his voice clipped. 'Because she denied me."
'What?"
'I gave her a chance to leave Stepan when you were born." My chest squeezes—so do my nails against my thighs. 'She refused. She preferred to be a wife to a pauper than a lover to a king. She chose her fate, and for that, I will always resent her. And because she denied me, I'm driven by a need to possess her. To own her. To teach her that she can never run away from me."
I tremble on the bench. Rage, fear, horror … It's all mixed inside of me in a thorny ball. Mom's words echo in my ear as I listen. Our monsters may wear different faces. But they're the same.
No, I tell myself. Asher isn't like Yannick at all. He can't be. He's better than him.
Is he? He murdered a child, Camila!
Yannick faces me, studying me with a half-smile. 'You think I'm a monster. I can see it on your face."
'Because you are," I hiss.
'Maybe." His shrug lacks commitment. 'But can you honestly say that your precious Asher is so different from me?"
He reaches up and pushes back my hair, revealing the marks Asher's fingers left on me.
'See?" he whispers. 'He's capable of hurting you the same way that you accuse me of hurting my dear Katyusha. And what's to say he hasn't done to you what I've done to her?"
I bite back a gasp. Does he know about the pregnancy? I wish I could read his face the way he reads mine. Afraid I'll reveal my secret, I remain silent. I don't budge an inch. A childlike fancy enters me: if I stay still long enough, he'll forget I'm here and go back to playing with Roman.
He tilts his head like an owl. 'If you want to get your mother away from me, you'll need to get yourself away from Asher. This war is only going to get worse." His eyebrows pucker. 'It would be terrible to lose my daughter in the crossfire. I've lost one child to Asher already. I do not wish to lose a second. And I have no desire to inflict that grief upon your mother."
The edges of my vision crackle with red and black. Panic mixes with disbelief. He's talking like he cares about her. Like he cares about me. I know it's just another lie. But for some reason, I'm stuck on what he said. The war … it's only going to get worse. That part is true, but why tell me that now?
Yannick slips his phone out of his jacket. His mouth is in a faint frown. He's reading something, and I guess he doesn't like it. But then he smiles again as if whatever he saw wasn't worth an afterthought.
'We'll see each other soon," he says to me without looking up. Standing, he shouts, 'Roman! Idi suda! It's time to go!"
I start to rise, but before I do, he turns to me. There's something in his hand. 'What—" I choke out, before he pushes the item into my palm.
'When the time comes, you'll know what to do," he says, backing away.
Opening my fingers, I stare at the tiny, hard square. It's a SIM card.
'Why would I ever want to contact you?" I seethe.
Yannick ignores me, but the cryptic smile doesn't leave his face. Roman bounds toward us, his scarf looping through the air like a kite's tail. Yannick meets him halfway, taking his hand. He whispers something to Roman, who casts a longing look toward me. The sadness is unmistakable on his young face, but he follows after Yannick obediently. They move quickly toward the car we arrived at the park in. Everything is happening suddenly, and my brain is barely able to keep up.
They're leaving without me!
Jumping to my feet, I look on helplessly as Yannick drives toward the nearby patch of trees. My heart is stampeding wildly. I'd be joyous, except that my mother is back at the house they're returning to without me.
'Hey!" I call into the dead air, confusion leaching into my tone. 'What's happening?"
There's a crunch as tires roll over the road. For a second, I stiffen, thinking Yannick has realized his error and is coming back for me. But this is a new car, and it's driving from the opposite direction.
The paint job makes it look like a chunk of midnight has broken from the sky. It stops right in front of my bench. The dark surface reflects everything around it, including my stunned expression. A familiar face appears in the crack when the door bursts open.
'Asher?" I manage to whisper.
His intense eyes bring a familiar heat to my chest. The cut of his dark jacket fits him well, forcing me to remember how muscular and fit he is beneath. Just seeing him wakes my body up.
He's a blur of motion, and suddenly I find myself in his warm embrace. The friction of his jacket is pressed against my cheek, and his arms cling, holding me to his body. It's a tight embrace that steals the air from my lungs. Or maybe I'm simply too stunned to breathe.
Is this real? Or is it still only a dream?
I've thought about this moment every night since I fled his mansion. The frequency grew once Yannick carted me away from our safe house. And now my dream has become reality. I'm in such a daze that when Asher holds me at a distance, searching my face, I don't register that he's asking me something.
'What?" I utter.
'Are you okay?" he asks—no, demands. The fervor in his wild eyes screams. Please tell me I'm not too late.
'Yes," I assure him. Blinking, I place my fingers on his wrists, squeezing, feeling how solid he is. One hand has bandages wound around the knuckles. There are puffy circles under his eyes, possibly darker than my own. 'How are you here?"
'Where is he?"
My heart skips. 'He left just before you got here."
Asher's eyes narrow, scanning the playground anxiously, like he doesn't believe me. The intensity in his face makes my hair stand on end. He's hunting. My hand curls around the SIM card. Should I tell him about this?
Yannick's words enter my head. If you want to get your mother away from me, you'll need to get yourself away from Asher as well. This war is only going to get worse.
Asher snaps his attention back to me. He hugs me again, tighter than before. My ribs creak from the pressure. But that's not my concern. The hug constricts me enough that it's hard to move. With a careful shift of my arms, I bring my hand near my pocket and drop the SIM card in.
I can't tell him … not yet.
Not until I know what side I need to take in this war I didn't start.
