Chapter 92
2440words
When I was a kid, brushing my hair always brought me comfort. Doing it before bed was a ritual that started before I knew what the word even meant. I'd sit on my mattress, my knees tucked beneath, music piping gently in the background, and throw my hair over my shoulder. Mom used to do it for me. She was patient—which was rare—as she ran the boar-bristled brush over my thick locks until they glowed like honey in the sun.
I wish she was here to do it for me now.
Mom, I hope you're okay.
Stroking the brush down to the tips of my hair, I try to let it relax me, but it's not working. It was a long shot, all things considered. Too much terrible stuff has happened in such a short time. If I could just brush it away, it would be a miracle. People like me never get those.
A soft tap comes at my door, and a moment later, I hear Asher's voice on the other side.
'Camila?"
Sitting up, I drop my feet to the floor. What could he want at this hour? I have an idea, but I don't know if I'm ready for a deep conversation right now. There have been so many of those lately, and every one of them has left me drained.
'Come in."
The door opens, and I catch the way his eyes settle on me, widening a fraction as he takes in my bare legs under my nightgown and my thick hair coiling over my naked shoulder. He hides his reaction behind a quick blink.
'I was looking for you," he says.
'Well, I'm easy to find. Not like I have a lot of places to go these days." I gesture around my bedroom with a bitter smile.
Asher's nose crinkles up like I've thrown dirty water in his face. But if you ask me, that verbal jab was well deserved.
'I wanted to apologize."
I sit up at that. Well, that was unexpected. I was ready for another tongue-thrashing about how I lied to him and put the Bratva in danger. But certainly not this.
His contrition is refreshing, but I'm not ready to let my guard down.
Not yet.
'You had every right to keep Roman a secret from me." He moves further into the room as he talks. 'I shouldn't blame you for it. And it was wrong of me to snap at you. I'm sorry, Camila."
Folding my hands over the hairbrush, I rub my thumb over the smooth handle absently. 'It was wrong how you snapped at me. But …" I take a deep breath. 'I admit that keeping Roman's existence a secret was wrong too. And I owe you an apology for that." I smile hopefully. 'Are we even?"
Letting his shoulders loosen, he visibly relaxes. 'Yes, very even." Two more steps of his powerful legs and he's standing over me. His eyes are half-lidded as he observes me in his thoughtful way. 'I can't imagine how hard it was for you to keep that secret to yourself."
A resigned laugh that sounds more like a scoff tumbles from my lips. Clutching my stomach, I toss my hairbrush aside, where it lands soundlessly on the mattress by the headboard. 'Well, if I gave myself an ulcer, I'm going to blame you."
Asher doesn't answer my lame attempt at a joke. Instead, he stares hard at the bed, seeming to be debating with himself. He eventually sits, his legs spread, hands clasped in between. 'I love you, Camila. You know that, right?"
'Of course I do." Warm ripples swim through me like small fish on their way to a bigger pond. 'But Asher … I didn't hide Roman because I didn't think you loved me. It had nothing to do with that. I just wanted to protect a scared child." Tugging at my bottom lip with my teeth, I scoot closer to him. Our hips are almost touching, but not quite. 'How was he?"
'Scared. He thought I was going to hurt him."
'Did you?"
He snaps his head around, eyeing me with uncertainty. 'No." His eyebrows unfurl and his frown becomes a soft shape. 'But I did kick down the front door. That would scare anybody. Camila … he kept mentioning you and Katinka, like he'd known you his whole life."
'Blame Yannick," I grumble. 'That asshole has deprived Roman of any form of stability since the day he was born." Recalling how Roman brightened up when talking about my mother and me returning, my voice grows tender. 'He seemed to think that us showing up meant his life would change for the better, that we'd all become one big happy family. Yannick probably told him that's how it would be." That monster was using us for his own purposes before we even knew.
'You said before that Katinka didn't know he was alive."
'That's right."
'How can that be?"
I fidget, pressing my hands between my knees to halt the movements. 'It's … hard to say out loud."
'Please try," he urges me. 'It's important."
I glance upward, finding that he's looking at me. I want there to be some softness, some understanding, in his silvery blue eyes, but they're flat and cold.
He's not thinking about the deeper implications of what I just told him. My heart shudders as I realize that in this moment, I'm not talking to the man who loves me, but to the head of the Grachev Bratva.
Shutting my eyes, I fight back a harrowing wave of sadness. I've wanted to avoid this conversation since the day I learned the truth. It hits too close to my own past. But there's no avoiding it now. Asher's eyes drill into mine, and though he doesn't say anything, I know I'm expected to answer.
The fresh wound breaks open as I begin to talk, my tone hoarse and gritty.
'Yannick raped her," my voice cracks as the words are dragged out from the depths of my soul, 'the same way he did when she got pregnant with me. But unlike how he left me with my parents?—"
I catch myself with every intent to correct it to my mother and Stepan but decide not to. That monster has taken everything from me already. He can't take the man who raised me. He can't take my dad.
Asher's hand reaches out to cover mine, pouring his warmth into me as he gives my hand a soft squeeze. The gentleness of his gesture gives me enough strength to continue.
'When Roman was born," I tell him, 'Yannick stole him away. Mom convinced herself he was dead because it was easier that way than to picture her child somewhere out in the world, existing without her."
Asher sits in silence for a long minute, never letting go of my hand. 'How did she react when she met him?"
'Shocked," I say. 'But she knew right away that he was her son." Opening my eyes, I look at him, imploring him to understand. 'She loves him. It doesn't matter to her that Yannick is his father any more than it matters that he's also mine. Roman is her baby."
'And he loves her?"
'God, yes." I chuckle lightly. 'He's obsessed, like he's making up for lost time."
Asher's mouth moves as he mulls over everything I've told him. 'Obsessed … That's an odd way to describe it."
'No, it isn't. He's a boy who has only heard stories of his mom, and one day she's finally in front of him. It's natural." I hesitate, reliving the moment Roman lashed out when I beat him at a video game. There was something different about him—a hint of the darkness that lives in his heart, similar to Yannick's.
'Camila?"
I shake myself quickly. 'It's nothing. Trust me, he's just an innocent kid. He's not like his father."
'He's more like Katinka, then?"
'They have the same exact smile." That brings a twinge of melancholy. 'It's a little surreal."
'I saw some similarity to you too." Bracing his free hand on the bed, Asher leans back until he's gazing at the ceiling. 'You only spent a few days with him, but you're convinced he doesn't take after his father?"
'Why do you need to know?" I ask warily.
He drops an eye on me. His tone is bleak. 'Because it's important."
I don't like how that sounds. Not at all. Placing my palm heavily on his knee, I squeeze just enough that his muscles tighten and his attention drops to what I'm doing.
'Why, Asher? What does it matter if Roman is more like my mom or Yannick?"
'It's my job to understand our enemies so I can keep us safe. Keep you safe, Camila."
'Enemies…" I pull my hands away from him with a scowl. 'Asher, how many times do I have to tell you that he's just a child?"
I scoot further across the mattress to create distance. His eyes narrow as he notices, and his voice is clipped.
'Every boy grows up into a man one day. Maybe he's a killer in the making. Maybe Yannick will come to the surface sooner rather than later. When you were around him, did he act entitled? Did he give off any indication that he expects to get his way, and if?—"
'Stop it!" Leaping off the bed, I clutch my nightgown tightly around my body. 'I'm not someone you can interrogate at your leisure!"
He hunches in my direction with a scowl. 'I'm not interrogating you."
'That's exactly what you're doing."
His eyes widen, the black dots of his pupils shrinking until they're pinpoints. Winding his fingers in the blanket, he remains seated, but I know he wants to stand and follow me. He feels the space between us the same way I do. It's cold, empty, troubling. But this discussion is worse.
'Camila … I'm just trying to protect you."
'Please, go." I point at the door, not moving my eyes from his. I won't be challenged. I'm not going to fold to his demands anymore. 'I need some space to think."
The lines by his nose deepen, and his jaw draws downward. 'You don't understand that you're walking straight down a shooting range. There are guns all around, and people are fingering the triggers. Don't be so willfully oblivious."
'You keep saying you're trying to protect me." My nails burrow into the flesh of my upper arms when they cross over my chest. 'From whom? Myself?"
'If I must," he says plainly.
I can't hug myself any harder than I already am. Desperate for comfort, I face the window. There's nothing outside, but I look anyway. 'I see how it is."
'Camila," he growls.
'Are you going to sit there and force me to answer your questions until you're satisfied? I thought I was your wife, not your prisoner."
The bed shifts loudly, the headboard colliding with the wall from how fast he jumps to his feet behind me. 'You are my wife!"
Curling in on myself, I fight the urge to become a tiny ball. I make sure my chin and head are held as high as possible. 'You'd never guess it from how you're treating me. Yannick kept me confined too, or did you forget that?"
Asher says nothing. In the window, I catch a glimpse of his reflection. The massive man is shrinking … his head lowering, his hands dangling; he's doing exactly what I'm trying not to. The shock of my words is sinking in.
'I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone." He vanishes from my view when he moves toward the door. It's a challenge not to turn and watch. I hate what he's saying, and I also hate not seeing him. Even when I'm upset, his existence is a comfort.
The doorknob clicks as he grips it. 'But I meant what I said. I want to keep you safe at all costs."
When I don't respond, he closes the door behind him.
On impulse, I hurry over and lock the door. It's like I'm protecting myself from doing something stupid. If he comes back, you'll forgive him. You can't do that, not until you think this through. He said a lot of things, and all of them have to be dissected.
He loves me. I know that.
He wants to protect me … I believe that too.
He thinks I'm a danger to myself. He thinks Roman is an enemy.
I'm not ready to believe those.
Dropping heavily onto my bed, I flop backward, throwing an arm across my face. If I was tired before, I feel boneless now. My elbow clicks on something hard—the hairbrush. Picking it up, I study the bristles. My finger traces over the soft tips, recalling again the childhood memory of my mother brushing my hair. Is she alone or with Roman?
Or is she with Yannick?
Shuddering, I lay the hairbrush across my belly. The side of my wrist rubs my skin where the nightgown has shifted aside. There's nothing to listen to but my own heartbeat. Nothing to distract me when a firm, solid kick jabs against the inside of my belly—softly at first, like a flutter of gas. But then it comes again.
And again. More insistent than before.
Oh my God!
Gasping, I sit upright, the hairbrush toppling carelessly to the floor. My head throbs from how fiercely I'm concentrating with both hands clasping my belly.
The baby kicked for the first time.
Wet droplets appear on my nightshirt. Sniffling, I clear the tears away. My baby … my sweet baby, you're so strong. I can't believe it. This is the most amazing thing ever. For years, I wished for this. Having a child meant everything to me. When I came so close in the past, only to be robbed of the joy by sheer chance, I convinced myself that being a mother wasn't meant to be.
Simon created a tower of guilt I didn't expect to ever leave behind. He made me think losing our baby was my fault. That I didn't deserve another.
Yet here I am … getting what I wished for.
I thought people like me didn't get miracles. But clearly, I was wrong.
All because of Asher.
That frustrating man has brought me untold levels of chaos. The turmoil, the stress, all of it has been overwhelming. In spite of that though, he's also brought me the one thing I always wanted.
That has to count for something.
Right?
