Chapter 69
1504words
He has done to you what Yannick did to me.
Placing my palm on my stomach, I remember the sound of my baby's heartbeat. Our baby's heartbeat. It's different ... We're different ... Asher isn't Yannick.
Isn't he?
Frowning, I strip down and climb into the tub. The water is on the edge of scalding, but it's exactly what I want. I welcome the heat, hoping that it offers the distraction I need. But no matter how deeply I sink into the water, no matter how deeply its heat penetrates me, my worries refuse to vanish.
The only way to know is to find out the truth about Pyotr.
I need to know if Asher murdered a child.
You can always ask him … my own voice whispers. But I can't. I won't know that he's not going to spin me another web of lies. Even though Asher said he wouldn't ever tell me lies, the fact that he kept Pyotr out of his story is enough to shake my belief in him.
I don't want to be scared of asking, but this dread I'm feeling tells me that I am. But just what am I afraid of? Of finding out which monster is telling me the truth? Yannick or Asher?
Closing my eyes, I remember the amazement on his face when he heard our baby's heartbeat. My brow furrows as another horrible thought bubbles up in the back of my mind.
What if he doesn't care about me? What if it's just the baby he wants? The baby will be Yannick's grandchild, with a strong claim to the Grachev Bratva.
And once the terrible idea has taken root, it winds its way around my heart, poisoning my thoughts.
Will he discard me after the child is born? He'll have the heir he needs. He won't need me anymore.
Maybe he has done to me what Yannick did to Mom.
Panic sets in like cement in my blood. The water can't soften it. I dunk my head, holding my breath, seeking some relief from my fear.
Am I destined to spend my life tiptoeing around Asher, always unsure of what new secrets I'll learn? Will he become a monster like Yannick with age? Will he always resent me for denying him—driven by a need to possess me, to own me, to teach me that I can never run away from him?
The tub feels ice cold by the time I drag myself from it. Drying my body off, I pause to study myself in the mirror. My belly is starting to round out now—not much, but noticeable to me. I smile at the sight, turning from side to side to get the full picture. What a shame that this dream-like state is cloaked by the dreary reality that brought it to me.
I'm wrapped in a thick blue cotton robe, lying on my bed, when someone taps their knuckles on my door.
'Come in," I answer.
Asher leans inside. The moment he sees my bare legs, he freezes, heat swimming in his hungry stare. 'Can we talk?"
Crossing my ankles, I try to bury my own rush of excitement. I'm all too familiar with the animalistic hunger in his expression. And if I'm being honest, I feel it as well, even though I try to deny myself from him.
It's been weeks since we've been together, and my body is buzzing at the thought of being with him. Fighting back the urges inside me, I clear my throat.
'What's up?"
He shuts the door—the click resonates from the air into my skin. He doesn't come closer yet. Even at this distance, his presence affects me. 'Dr. Helsan says that everything is fine with our baby."
'Yes," I agree, stroking my tummy. He watches me do it, like he's fascinated. I can feel his eyes taking me in, and I'm filled with fresh waves of adoration and desire.
Asher settles his weight against the door. 'But there's something he couldn't tell me."
'What's that?"
'How you are doing."
I straighten up in surprise. 'I'm fine."
'Are you?" Crossing the room, Asher stands beside the bed, looming as he studies me intently. 'We haven't talked about what happened to you at the safe house or what Yannick did when he took you with him. I know almost nothing about what you've endured. And you won't tell me."
He puts a hand on the headboard. The bandage wound around it draws my eye. 'What about you? What have you been up to?"
Asher frowns until there are grooves along his forehead. Flexing his fingers, he peels off the bandage to reveal bruises the same color as rotting grapes. They're centered on his knuckles. 'I punched someone."
'Who?"
His eyes blacken like a storm is coming. It's enough to make me shy away. 'A man who tried to get me killed. But that's not why I hit him." He shakes his hand out, making a loose fist. 'He was one of Yannick's brigadiers."
'That sounds like a good enough reason to me," I mumble.
Asher's scowl shifts the spectrum until he's eyeing me with concern again. 'Tell me what happened at the safe house Jonah sent you to."
Pulling my knees to my chest, I sit up. He's worried. Of course he is. I should have expected this sooner. I can insist until I'm blue in the face that I'm fine. But if I were Asher, I wouldn't believe me either. It would be simple to close myself off more. I can shrug off his questions, tell him to leave me alone, and drop the topic.
But I can't.
Peering at his face, I read his emotions as easily as words on a page. Asher is genuinely concerned. This isn't a farce. I've convinced myself all over again that I can't trust him. That might be true, but ... there's no denying that he loves me. That, amidst all this chaos, is real.
'Yannick showed up out of the blue," I whisper, hugging my legs harder. 'He brought backup, men with guns who could see us through the windows. He told us that there was no other choice but to go with him."
'Of course he did," Asher says, sitting on the bed. His hand drops to my ankle. The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through me. He pauses, clearly feeling it too. 'You had no choice. He would have killed you for fighting back."
I shudder at the memory of that awful day. I crawled on the floor, wishing for a weapon, for some way to attack Yannick. I hate how pathetic my rebellion turned out to be.
But above all else, I hate the fact that I'm out of his clutches, but Mom isn't.
'I can't stop thinking about the terrible things he's doing to my mother right now," I whisper. 'How are we going to get her back, Asher?"
'We'll find a way. I promise." His grip slips up my calf to squeeze my knee.
I swallow the knot in my throat. 'You know what I was thinking when he had us on the floor of that kitchen?" Black terror swarms my vision and I close my eyes tight. 'I was wishing you'd appear out of thin air. I prayed you'd save us."
He leans against me, circling me in a hug that could suffocate me if he did it wrong. Against my ear, he growls, 'I wish I had. I should've never agreed to let you go." His breath rattles in his chest. 'When I found these at the house, I worried that maybe you'd left them behind as a way to say I'd let you down, and you were done with me for good."
Something round and hard is pressed against my palm. I look down and spot the familiar prayer beads. He leans back to give me room to stare at them.
'No, Asher. I left them behind accidentally."
His smile doesn't last long—not because his happiness vanishes, but because his lips crash against mine in a hungry kiss instead.
'I was afraid I'd lost you," he admits in a cracking voice, speaking between rapid kisses that get more insistent by the second. 'Forever."
'You didn't." Cradling his jaw, I rub my forehead on his.
The sensation of our skin pressing together lights up my soul. He was worried for me ... not just the baby, but me. The next kiss begins, and my heartbeat grows faster as we deepen the kiss.
His fingers stroke my hair, and I think helplessly about the question I want to ask him. I'm desperate to know about Pyotr. But I'm too taken up in the moment, too paralyzed by our intermingling desire to bring it up.
I know that if I do, this moment will end.
And I need this too much to give it up.
For now … our problems can wait.
