Chapter 95
2976words
I've developed a slight obsession with baby forums. My mother is out of reach, Layla has never had kids, Ollie is too naive, and Adriana … I should be able to talk to Adriana, but ever since her husband was roped in to help with the cops, our relationship has been awkward. Each chat has a heavy air around it, like discussing the baby is inappropriate.
I've wondered more than once if she's not actually excited about the pregnancy. Her opinion of Asher isn't a glowing one, after all.
Sitting downstairs in a patch of sun on the long green couch by the massive windows, I scroll through my phone idly. There are all kinds of messages on the forum. People post about how far along they are—they love comparing their babies to the size of vegetables and fruit—and talk about if they're having a boy or a girl; they even complain about their in-laws. That's a very popular topic to vent about.
I'd take that problem over the ones I have, I muse cynically. I'm reading the live chat, and half the posters are going on about planning baby showers—something I feel a pang of regret about, because I doubt I'll get one. Suddenly someone drops a link to a video. I sit up, squinting while reading the barrage of all-caps messages.
What is everyone freaking out about? Curious, I click over. The link pops up, revealing a video screen with a big red live button. There's a blonde woman speaking into a microphone as she stands in front of a large building downtown.
'Breaking news. We're coming to you live from downtown in front of one of the most popular nightclubs in the area, the Winter Palace."
I'm assaulted by a jolt of adrenaline. The Winter Palace? What's going on? The woman keeps speaking. I push my nose to my phone, listening with rising unease.
'This was the place to see and be seen, but just last night, police performed a raid on it. What they found will shock you. A dozen or so bodies, all women, were found in the bottom level of the high-end club."
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I muffle a loud groan. No! Bodies!? What the hell happened!
The reporter fades away as the camera zooms in on the building. There are police cars parked all around, blocking much of the view. 'The location, which police revealed doubled as a brothel, was shut down immediately. According to our insider, the brutally murdered women had various messages carved right onto their bodies. This is what the police commissioner has to say."
Oh my God. Did she say carved ... onto their ... I tighten my hand over my mouth in case I vomit.
A portly man with a white mustache and the tell-tale black uniform of a police officer appears on my screen. His voice is a reverberating, gritty baritone. 'Late last night, we raided the Winter Palace on a tip. The scene was horrific. In all my years, I've never seen anything like it. We're still investigating, but our current evidence points the blame in one direction—the Grachev Bratva."
'Asher!" I shout, not lifting my eyes from the screen. 'Asher, come here quick!"
Footsteps pound through the home. It takes him all of ten seconds before he cuts around the corner, searching for me with wide, worried eyes. 'What is it? What's wrong?"
'Just look!" I yell, thrusting my phone in his direction. He hurries over, crouching over the back of the couch to watch my screen. His eyes widen, darting from side to side before narrowing to tight slits.
His hands clutch the couch as he lets out a hot breath. 'Yannick is behind this."
'What?" I ask, lowering my phone. 'Why would he ruin his own club?"
'To pin it on me. That bastard would raze his business to the ground if it meant he could take me down in the process." Straightening up, he walks back and forth with his hand running over his hair. He stares into the air, his brain on overdrive. 'He's going to send the cops straight to me."
A mild ringing rises in my ears. I hear the reporter's words again. Dead women. Bodies carved with messages. A secret brothel. The Grachev Bratva.
'He's going to get away without a single scratch," I whisper. My eyes dart to Asher.
My phone buzzes, startling me so much that I almost drop it. Navigating away from the news video, I answer the call when I recognize the caller is Adriana. 'Hello?"
'Camila! Did you see?—"
'Yeah, the Winter Palace? It's awful. Those poor girls."
'I know, but spare a little pity for yourselves because the cops are on your tail. Jonah says he's having a hard time keeping them from driving straight over to Asher's place right now."
My jaw drops wide. I look at Asher, and he catches my fear, coming closer to where I am. I reach out and he grabs my hand, squeezing it. It brings some comfort. 'Are you serious?" I ask Adriana.
'He's doing his best," she says, 'but the police are being extra aggressive. I mean, can you blame them?"
Recalling the quick visuals of the scene on the news, I shudder. 'Asher, Adriana says the cops are itching to arrest you. Jonah is barely holding them back."
'I appreciate his efforts, but it's pointless. Nothing he says or does will stop them after this. We need to leave." He pats my wrist, and when he starts to pull away, I cling on. He gets the hint and remains where he is.
'And go where?" I ask anxiously.
'There are several Bratva safe houses located far enough from here that we can hide out at, stay under the radar."
I gesture around the empty room to indicate the entire household. 'What about everyone else?"
He manages a small, indulgent smile. 'They'll be fine. This isn't the first police raid this place has handled."
'But—"
'Camila, trust me. Layla knows how to handle it." His eyes darken like he's been shrouded in shadows. 'The cops are going to regret wasting their time."
'Did you hear that, Adriana?" I ask. 'We're going to go to a safe house."
She's silent for a while, and for a moment, I'm afraid that the call has disconnected. But after a moment, she says, 'Okay. Be safe, Camila."
'We will." I end the call and push myself off the couch. Asher comes around, holding me like I might collapse any second. I smile to show I'm all right. 'Well … I guess we should pack."
The snow has turned the landscape into a blank canvas. The only color in front of us is the dark swatch of road that swerves like an undulating snake. We've been driving for an hour, and in that time, we've taken turns choosing the music. Asher's crunchy brass jazz is a severe contrast to the lilting flow of my instrumental orchestras. The songs are as different as us. In spite of that, I easily appreciate the refreshing life the jazz brings, and Asher smiles fondly as I hum to 'The Sea and Sinbad's Ship."
Asher grips the steering wheel with one hand, reclining casually in the driver's seat. You'd never guess we were fleeing from the police. He's acting like this is a drive through the country. But when he doesn't notice me looking, I catch the way he churns his jaw … the furrow that makes his brow heavy.
His free hand, placed on the middle console, flexes now and then. It's not from the rhythm of the music. Gently, I place my hand over his. Asher starts, giving me a curious side-eye. I just smile and keep humming.
'Oh!" I gasp, sitting forward as the car takes a curve, escaping the white hills and trees that filled my view this whole time. In front of us is a huge lake. The water mirrors the periwinkle sky with its puffy clouds. Winter hasn't been able to freeze the lake into ice; a few geese scoot along the water as they search for food.
On the edge of the water is a small wooden dock. There are no boats, but one of the stumps is wrapped in an old, frayed rope as thick as my wrist. But what really holds my attention is the cabin. It's a single level, but that doesn't diminish the size. The polished, gold-tan wood helps it stand out from the field of white all around. Someone must have plowed the snow away because the road that leads to the driveway is cut in clean chunks that nature could never do overnight.
'This is where we're staying?" I marvel.
'I take it you like it."
'I love it," I say honestly. 'I always wanted to stay in a cabin by a lake."
'It's nothing fancy."
'It's perfect," I state firmly.
Asher hits the brakes a little harder than needed, as if I've surprised him. He smiles at me, cutting the engine then opening his door. 'I'm relieved. I was worried that making you pack up and rush here would be a miserable experience."
'The reason we have to is bad, yeah, but I'm not upset about the change of venue."
He chuckles to himself before helping me from the car. The ground is clear of snow, but the wooden stairs into the cabin are slick. I appreciate being able to lean on him to make sure I don't fall. I've become hyperaware of how easy it would be to hurt myself—and my baby—with a wrong step.
The interior of the cabin is even better than the outside. The ceilings have a steeple shape, the beams crisscrossing elegantly. There's a chandelier crafted from deer antlers. Asher flicks a switch by the front door, lighting it up. The main room is expansive, set up open-floor style so the kitchen is on one end, the stone fireplace and maroon couch, big enough to fit eight people, on the other. The wall in front of the couch is one massive window that overlooks the lake.
'Are we the only ones here?" I ask.
'For now. I'll have some of my men come by so we can plan our next steps." He catches my slight frown and hurries to add, 'But I have cameras set up outside. No one will break in without me seeing them coming, so don't worry about a lack of guards."
He's misread my frown. I'm not worried about protection. I was hoping we could escape all the reminders of our situation, but apparently, even now, we can't.
'Are you hungry?" he asks me.
'Starving," I admit. I haven't eaten since breakfast and we hurried to pack, so lunch was skipped. It's been a few hours since I ate and I'm only just realizing it.
Rolling up his sleeves, he walks toward the large, stainless-steel fridge. 'I'll make us something."
'Wait," I laugh, 'back up. First, how is there food here? This place is far away, and no one lives here. Second … since when do you cook?"
'I've always cooked," he says, looking offended. 'For the rest, I just messaged my team before we left the house. I needed someone to plow the snow so we could reach the cabin, a cleaner to get things perfect, and groceries and supplies so we could stay for a while."
I nod in amazement. He's always prepared. It's second nature to him. I tingle with a mix of appreciation and love. Cradling my tummy, I watch Asher in the kitchen, enjoying this home-maker side of him.
He catches me watching. 'Sit," he motions at the couch. 'Relax. I'll even get a fire going."
'You're doing too much."
'Hardly." He comes around, gently pushing my shoulders until I relent and settle on the squishy couch. He bends over the large stone fireplace; his muscles flex deliciously as he hefts a few thick logs into the cavernous opening beyond the grate. He presses a small button, and the flames burst to life. 'There. That should get things warm."
I'm already warm, I think with a coy smile. I don't say it because I'm hungrier than anything else—I don't want to distract him from cooking. Yet.
He stacks four russet potatoes on top of a wooden chopping block built into the counter. It's big enough that once he's done peeling and chopping the potatoes, he still has room to dice some shallots. Their purple chunks, all perfectly uniform, are scraped to one side. He moves with skill, the definition in his forearms obvious in the overhead lights.
Reclining on the couch, I settle into the cushions, enjoying the gentle sound of his knife work as it clicks on the wood. The fire crackles nearby, casting yellow across the polished floor, the heat making me sleepy.
This is the first time we've been alone like this. Half-shutting my eyes, I smile fondly at Asher where he's begun arranging a heavy copper saucepan on top of the stove. The first time we act like a normal couple without his staff scurrying around. There's no one here but us. I stroke my belly with a little sigh. I wonder if this is what it will be like when we're finally a family?
Picturing our baby but older, toddler-sized, pressing his or her nose against the big window and giggling at the geese … It has my heart overflowing. It's easy to forget we're in hiding. Outside these walls, there are multiple people who want Asher dead. Some of them wouldn't mind if I was dead too.
I start to drift off as the heat of the cabin and plushness of the couch overwhelm me.
'Camila?" Asher calls gently. I pop my eyes open, yawning and stretching. He's standing by the kitchen table, where two plates have been loaded with food. The scent of it reaches me—paprika, shallots, and olive oil. There's steam wafting off the food.
'Did I fall asleep?" I ask, smiling sheepishly.
'Only for a moment. I didn't want to wake you, but you said you were hungry."
'I am," I laugh. Smoothing my hair and outfit, I push off the couch with a grunt. 'What did you make?"
Placing his hand on the middle of my back, he guides me to one of the chairs, pulling it out so I can sit. 'Potato and mushroom Stroganoff."
Inhaling the steam drifting off the food, I let out a gentle moan. 'It smells amazing." Plucking up a fork, I stab one of the circular potatoes. It's clear he's made this dish before. The potato is thin enough that I can hold it to the light and see through its transparent surface. When I pop it into my mouth, chewing experimentally, a rush of flavor coats my tongue. It's mild but delicious; saltiness enhances the gentleness of the potatoes without overwhelming them. 'Oh my God," I manage, before scooping up a bigger mouthful, wanting to get some of everything. 'This is incredible!" I mumble as I chew.
Laughing, Asher leans forward in his chair, like he's trying to get a better look at me enjoying his food. 'I'm glad you like it."
'Seriously, I wish you'd cooked for me sooner. I didn't know you were so talented."
'What sort of man doesn't know how to feed the people he loves? There's more to being a protector than shooting a gun."
Mulling that over, I twist my fork into the short, flat strips of pasta until it's too much to swallow in a single bite. Chewing half of it, I arch my back with an exaggerated moan. 'It's crazy good. I can't get over it."
'That makes me happy," he says, his voice growing soft. Lowering his eyes, he pokes at the food on his own plate. I'm reminded of a time that seems so long ago … a dinner where he ate greedily, and I refused to touch my meal. He sets his fork down. 'I've been worried about you since the moment you left for witness protection. And even after you returned."
Oh, that's what's on his mind. 'I was surprised you let me leave, honestly."
'Don't misunderstand," he says, waving a hand for emphasis. 'I struggled with it. Layla stopped me from getting in the way."
I'd brought my glass to my lips, but instead of drinking, I freeze up in surprise. 'She did?"
His shrug is aloof, like he wants to pretend Layla's involvement was less impactful than it truly was. 'She has a way of knowing what's best."
'Yes," I agree, putting my glass down with a mild smile. 'She does."
Asher shifts in his chair. His eyes roam to his food, his hands, the large window. He works his jaw, trying to summon the words he needs. 'Terrible things happened because I wasn't there to shelter you."
'Asher—"
'Even so … I don't regret letting you leave." He faces me, his eyes searching mine in that eagle-like way of his. 'You're your own person, Camila. You should be allowed to make your own choices. But, my God, I was a wreck. I kept picturing the worst scenarios and … and I had a vivid nightmare."
That's right, he almost told me. It came up after Madison nearly stabbed him with a syringe. I wanted to pry but resisted. 'What was your nightmare about?"
Lacing his hands together, he hunches lower in his chair. 'For a long time, I've had nightmares about Kristina. They're always the same thing—me coming across her body and being unable to save her as she bleeds out. But this time, it wasn't her corpse I picked up." His attention snaps to me. 'It was yours."
'How did I die?"
'I killed you."
