Chapter 81
2168words
Asher is dead.
I've never seen him so still. Even in his most brooding moments, he radiated life. But lying on the floor, his throat split apart in a clean gash, ashen skin coated in blood, he's as lifeless as a rock. The man who was constantly strong … a symbol of power … is no more.
And there's so much blood.
The trail of glistening red goes from Asher to the tip of the knife in Madison's hand. She crouches over Asher's body, legs bent like a gargoyle perched on a roof. She shifts almost imperceptibly to turn one eye on me.
Her lips twist into a smirk as if to say, You're next.
And it's true. Because what defense do I have against a trained killer? She took down Asher with ease. I'll be a cakewalk.
'Madison, no," I whisper. My mouth is too dry; the words are too quiet. But again, I know it doesn't matter. Screaming won't stall her mission.
She rises, stalking toward me with the patience of a wolf cornering a rabbit. The knife flips into her other hand, leaving a trail of bloody dots on the ground. Behind her, Asher stares at nothing. I'm about to join him.
'Please," I manage, just before she levers her arm back. Time dilates. I'm tortured by being forced to watch the infinitely slow way death comes for me. In a smooth thrust, the blade jams into my stomach.
I have a single, mind-splitting, agonizing thought about my poor baby.
I never even got to name it.
'No!" I manage to yell the word, sitting upright, clutching at my belly. I feel my skin, the lingering pain of the stab wound fading as I realize I'm not hurt. I'm wet from sweat, not blood. Around me is the familiar scene of Asher's bedroom.
It was just a nightmare.
Frantic to confirm he's all right, I look over at Asher. He isn't just alive; he's sitting up and gawking at me with his eyebrows pressed together so tight that they've become one.
'Camila! What's wrong?" he asks in a panic.
'I just had an awful nightmare." Trembling, but overcome by an urge to touch Asher, I clasp his cheeks. 'Why do you feel so cold?" I gasp. The imagery of his bleeding corpse swims up.
'I'm not. You're just overheated." He palms my forehead to remove some of my perspiration. 'Let me get you some water."
'No, stay."
But he's already gone, hurrying to the mini fridge on the far side of his room. Returning with a small bottle, he cracks it open and hands it to me. The chill is good, but drinking it is heaven. 'Tell me about the nightmare, Camila."
The tender way he speaks encourages me to be honest. I swallow down more water, then feel a wave of anguish as I relive the terrible dream, I force the words out. 'It was god-awful. Madison … she took a knife to your throat, dropping you to the ground. Then she came at me and—" Gulping, I rub my belly protectively. 'It was so real."
'It wasn't," he assures me. His eyes warm over with fierce compassion. 'It was only a dream."
The memory of Madison cowering on his office floor comes back to me, but the version of her in my nightmare doesn't leave.
'Would you have really killed Madison?" I whisper hesitantly. It's hard to look him in the eye.
I hate that he doesn't answer right away.
Frowning, he makes a soft noise in his throat. The hand that was on my cheek now runs through his own hair, like he's flustered. 'I don't know."
My heart calcifies like limestone in a dark cave.
'What I do know," he says, looking at me with sincerity, 'is that I would have felt haunted by her death. More so than any of my other kills." He presses his palm to his chest, as if to check that his own heart is still there. 'Because each kill stays with you. Those memories will never leave."
My brain is looping back on itself, drawing at myriad concerning things. Madison's death would have weighed on him more than Pyotr? Why is one child's death worth more than another's? Asher strokes my hair, trying to relax me, but I'm too wired. The adrenaline from the nightmare that had faded has been replaced by new anxiety over this question that continues to plague me. He killed Pyotr—I know he did—but why?
Layla said if I wanted to pry, I'd have to do it myself.
She also warned me this would unleash pain on all of us.
But I have to know.
Steeling my nerves, I shift enough to peer into his face. I need to see how he reacts. 'Yannick told me that you killed his son."
Asher's jaw slips open. I spot every minor twinge of his lips and eyebrows. He's taken aback by my sudden question. But it's not shock I care to see from him; it's shame. I want him to feel bad for what he did.
I need him to.
It's so damn important to me and whatever future we're trying to build together.
'Yes," he sighs after a moment. 'I did kill Pyotr."
Tension that had consumed me for days breaks off in sheets like ice on a mountain. I sway forward, our heads almost touching. We could be kids sharing stories after dark while hoping no adults catch us in the act. 'Why?"
'Can we go back to discussing nightmares?" he chuckles wearily. 'Those are easier. I've had plenty of my own."
I'm intrigued, and I do want to know what the dark dreams that haunt him are, but this is more pressing. 'Please, Asher. I have to know."
I have to know why you don't feel remorse for killing a child.
'More than ten years ago, I was Yannick's brigadier." He sighs through his nose. 'And Pyotr's bodyguard. It was a job that brought me honor and prestige, but not pride."
'Why?"
'Because that man was evil to the core. A rotten apple that didn't fall far from the tree."
My spine straightens sharply. 'Wait, man?"
Asher squints at my question. 'Yes, Pyotr was twenty-two when I killed him."
The admission is like an anvil has been shoved off my chest. Not that killing anyone is okay, but the fact that Asher isn't a child murderer is a relief. For some reason, I'd always imagined Pyotr as a different version of Roman. Impish, vulnerable, innocent to a fault.
It never crossed my mind that Pyotr was a grown man.
A rotten apple that didn't fall far from the tree.
'Sorry," I say, 'Keep going."
Asher rubs his fingers over his mouth. 'Pyotr got his kicks by hurting those who couldn't fight back." He turns a wary stare on me, like he isn't sure if he should say the next part. 'He took a particular liking to breaking the girls who were brought to the Winter Palace. He said it was like taking his vitamins each morning."
Gritting my teeth, I give my head a furious shake. 'That's awful."
'One night," Asher continues, 'I stood outside, where he ordered, as he took a girl who was a wild child, even by Yannick's standards. I could hear her screams through the door. And for the first time, I questioned just why the hell I allowed it to continue." His hands ball into fists. 'I couldn't stand by anymore. The girl screamed for her mother, even though she knew her mother was dead."
Wait … Somehow, all of this sounds oddly familiar.
Unbidden, familiar words whispered in the dark echo in my ear.
She left this earth long before I ever realized that I even had a mother.
'So, I kicked the door open and demanded that he stop." Asher's eyes take on a faraway look. 'He told me to leave. Told me that it was his order. That this terrible thing he was doing was his right. His duty. And that my duty was to stand guard outside until he was done. And that's when I saw her."
The chains are proof that I'm property.
'Pyotr had her tied down." Asher is clutching the blanket so violently that it twists into a whirlpool of cloth. The vein in his neck pulses quicker. 'And he went back to raping her. The girl screamed, begging me to save her."
'I acted on impulse and ripped him off her." Asher begins to strangle the blanket, saying, 'He was furious. He got in my face, arguing that plenty of the other men … other brigadiers just like me … had been with her since she was a little girl."
I'm not a fragile little girl hoping for someone to come along and sweep me away into a happy home with smiles instead of sneers!
There isn't a vein in his body that isn't pumping with adrenaline. I ache to reach for him and comfort him, but I'm afraid if I try, he'll lash out. Not intentionally, but he's reliving a traumatic event, making it vividly real all over again.
Asher ...
His mouth twitches into an open scowl. 'I shot him without a second thought. Then I grabbed her, freeing her from that place. For good."
Whatever lingering disgust I'd felt toward him over killing Pyotr vanishes in the air between us. I reach for his wrist, and when I touch him, he doesn't lash out. Asher looks at me with hollowed-out eyes. He's waiting to be judged. Asking me to tell him if what he did was right or wrong.
He does what he has to in order to save the helpless. This is what Layla meant when she said he had a moral code. It's admirable. It also makes him dangerous, because there's little to leash him from committing one crime to prevent another. 'I understand," I say soothingly. 'You did what you had to. For Mila."
'And for my act of mercy," his smile is sickly, 'Yannick murdered Kristina."
The reminder makes me pull my hand away; he catches my fingers, holding me so I'm touching his warm skin.
'Camila," he whispers, drawing me against his body, 'I wish you'd asked me about this sooner. I get why you didn't; you were frightened of how I would react. I promise, there's nothing I will hide from you. You don't have to fear asking me about the past or the truth."
Sparks of joy open in me like blossoms in the rain. I drop the bottle of water; it rolls off the bed, forgotten.
Smoothing my palms over his face, I tug him down until our lips lock tight. His jaw is scruffy—he hasn't shaved in two days. It's a hint at the inner stress he's been suffering through. I've thought about my own stress, but what about his?
This man who is obsessed with saving me and my child and my mother … what pressure that must be. How can he even stand up? I'd be flattened into the dust if so many lives relied on me to keep them safe.
Asher doesn't stop kissing me—I keep hold of the back of his neck so he can't. Something passes between us, a silent acknowledgment of both the late hour and our exhaustion. We're drained of energy. He shifts, pressing into my curves from behind, hugging me with his chest to my spine. His chin nestles into the gap between my cheek and shoulder.
He mumbles something tender. I can't discern the words, but I can feel his intent.
His need to reassure me.
What am I going to do?
My body is weighed down by guilt. He promised to tell me anything ... but I'm still hiding Roman from him. I want to believe he won't harm the boy. It helps to know that Pyotr wasn't a child but a full-grown adult without a shred of redeeming value.
But then, I saw how he was with Madison. He couldn't tell me flat out that he wouldn't have ended her life.
And that's the thing. The monster capable of killing is always inside him. And it stirs to life every time a threat comes near.
But there's something else that crosses my mind.
Even if he doesn't harm Roman, he will definitely kill Yannick. If Madison can be lured into committing crimes, then so can Roman. He loves his father, twisted and vile though Yannick is.
What's to say that after Asher ends Yannick's life, Roman won't be tainted by the same desire for vengeance?
I wish I could convince Asher to abandon going after Yannick, but I can't.
Not when he has my mom captive.
All I can do as Asher holds me close, whispering sweet, indiscernible words, is pray that there's a way to untangle this mess.
Because how can he rescue my mother … and not find out about Roman?
