32. 32 – Stasi
E llen shoos me out of the kitchen before I’ve even finished eating. “Go on, now. Off to bed.”
I glance at the clock. “But I haven’t cleaned up yet.”
But she shakes her head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll clean up this evening. Rafe was very clear. Stay there until the morning.”
I bet he was.
But the jab doesn’t feel as good as it would have even this morning. Not after sitting with him, listening to him. After sharing my side with him.
And now… now they all know the truth. Our truth, at least. My throat tightens as I head into my room, gently pushing the door closed before taking a seat on the edge of my bed.
They all know. And yet I feel like I don’t know anything, anymore.
The Tate brothers have me tied up in knots, all over again. Just like they did when I was fifteen. And this time, things are… even more difficult. If that’s possible.
I’m their prisoner . Their responsibility.
And they seem intent on breaking me open, one by one. Chipping little parts of me away, piece by piece, taking them and putting them under a microscope.
They are making me feel seen .
They’re the only ones who ever did.
I thought the men I knew were gone. But the longer I spend here, the more I see them. Flashes, hints, hidden beneath the hurt and anger but there , even if they have changed.
And I can’t judge them for changing, for not being those boys anymore.
It happens to us all. Everybody changes. We are all the sum of our experiences. Layer after layer that builds up over time. Only fate decides which experiences will be good .
And so often, the experiences that shape us the most are not good at all.
I lay there for hours, blinking at the ceiling.
Trying not to think about them. And failing.
Finally, I sit up. My bladder is shouting at me, and I glance towards the door.
Rafe wouldn’t have meant for me not to go to the bathroom. As long as I don’t wander into the dining room, it’ll be fine.
I still feel like I’m doing something wrong as I ease the door open and poke my head out. The hall is clear, and I slip out and down into the bathroom without an issue.
It’s when I’m leaving it that it happens.
I’m so focused on my bedroom door that I jump a mile at the unfamiliar voice.
“Well. What do we have here?”
Shit. Rafe is going to be pissed.
Slowly, I turn. The man strolling up the hall isn’t familiar to me. Tall, broad-shouldered. Handsome enough, with bright, blonde hair and brown eyes that sweep me up and down.
It’s the look in his eye that makes me take a step back. I force a smile. “Hi. Don’t mind me. I’m just heading back to bed.”
He eats up the space between us. “You must be Anastasia. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
His lip curls a little. When I turn, intending to leave, his hand reaches out, grabbing my wrist. “Where are you running off to, hmm?”
My muscles lock up. “Please let me go.”
He smirks. “No need to look so scared. I’m just curious. Everyone is talking about the ugly stepsister, after all.”
I steel myself as he blatantly stares down at my body. “Not the prettiest. But certainly not ugly.”
My breathing speeds up as his grip on my wrist tightens. He gives me the same vibes as Parrish did.
I glance down the hallway behind him, searching for any sign of Rafe. Silas. Kit.
But the hallway is empty. “Won’t Rafe be looking for you?”
His face twists into something unfamiliar. “Rafe won’t begrudge me a little playtime with his toy, I’m sure.”
My body breaks into a cold sweat as he steps in closer. He reaches out, and I stay completely still as his finger traces down my neck. Lower.
“No,” he murmurs. “Not ugly.”
I brace myself. Breathe, Stasi.
In. Out.
And then I kick him, as hard as I can. My foot connects with his shin, and he lets go of my wrist.
And I run . Not back to my room, where he can corner me. But down the hall, towards the dining room. To them.
A curse rings out from behind me, and I cry out as a hand tangles in my hair, yanking me back with savage, burning pain.
“Little bitch,” he hisses, slapping his hand over my mouth. “You clearly need a better lesson than what they’re teaching you.”
I fight. My hand scratches at his skin, digging into his face and raking down his cheek as he tries to push me down. He swears again, and my head whips to the side as he slaps me hard with his open palm.
It gives him an advantage, as my vision doubles. My hands are weaker now, pushing at his shoulders as he forces me down, using his body to hold me in place as my legs scrabble desperately against the floor.
I twist, my hands reaching out as his fingers wrap around my neck.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he grunts. His hands roam down, and I choke on the sob in my throat.
“Please, please, stop —,”
There’s a roar from behind me. The weight crushing me down disappears.
And hands are pulling me up as I flinch. Kit is there, his hands running up and down my arms frantically before he cups my face. “Stasi. Jesus. Stasi .”
I stare into his pale face, my breath seesawing in and out. “Kit. He – he…”
My face crumples, and he hauls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “You’re safe.”
He repeats the words over and over again, his hands stroking over the back of my head as I bury my face in his chest, trying to believe him. My legs are shaking badly, the rest of me not much better.
And behind me, thuds ring out. I can hear Silas, hear Rafe, hear the sheer, blazing fury in their voices. And I can hear the broken, choked sounds of the man who pinned me down.
And then I’m turned, and Rafe is there, his hands on my face. He scans me frantically. “Stasi,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I choke out. “You told me not to leave my room.”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” He strokes my face, and his fingers pause when I wince. He tilts my face to the side, under the light.
And his face grows darker still. Darker than I’ve ever seen it. “He hit you.”
He whirls away from me, and Kit holds me tightly as Silas drags the man over, his hand gripping the back of his neck. The man’s face is barely recognizable, and I flinch as Silas throws him down. His eyes are nearly black when he looks at me, his eyes zeroing in on my face.
Silas reaches down, dragging the man up to his knees as I shrink back into Kit.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “We’ve got you.”
The man coughs, and a trail of blood appears at the corner of his mouth. Rafe leans forward and yanks his hair back. His voice is pitch black when he speaks. “You dared to touch her, Lazarus.”
Lazarus. That’s his name.
He garbles out something unintelligible, and my breath catches when Silas presses something against the side of his head.
A gun.
“Beg her,” he says, his voice without mercy. His knuckles are bruised and bloody. “On your fucking knees. Apologize, and beg her forgiveness, Lazarus. Beg for your miserable fucking life.”
Kit’s warmth soaks into my back, and I lean into it further, trying to chase away the cold stealing over my soul.
I have never seen this side of them. This… darkness.
Lazarus looks up at me, his eyes unfocused, and I can’t stop the flinch.
Three matching snarls ring out. Kit tightens his grip. “I’m taking her to the kitchen. She doesn’t need to see this.”
But when he tries to urge me away, I don’t move.
Instead, I stare down at the man who tried to assault me. He’s crying now, the tears mixing with snot on his face as the barrel of Silas’s gun presses deeper into his forehead.
His apology is incoherent, babbled words that don’t make sense. But I get the gist.
“Stasi.” I look away from him, look at Silas. His face is hard, but I see him. I see the pain in his eyes, even as his hand stays steady. “Go with Kit.”
I don’t look away. “Are you going to kill him?”
I don’t care that my voice shakes. I think I’m entitled to it, really. Silas doesn’t move as he meets my gaze, resolute. “Yes. He doesn’t get to touch you and live.”
My eyes close slowly. And I make a decision. “All right.”
Before I turn, I stare back down at Lazarus. The blood on his face gleams beneath the lights.
“I’m going now,” I say to him. My voice doesn’t shake this time. “But I want you to know that you deserve this, you evil, raping son of a bitch. And I hope they make it hurt.”
“We will,” Rafe says darkly. His fingers brush mine as I move past him. “Kit will take care of you. I’m coming to you as soon as we’re done.”
My nod feels numb, and I lean into Kit as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, and turns me away from the sight of him, kneeling on the floor.
“Will they do it… there?” I ask Kit in a whisper as he leads me into the kitchen. He hesitates, his eyes on my face.
“No. There is a place, not far from here. He won’t be found.”
Slowly, I nod. The adrenaline is draining away, leaving exhaustion in its wake, and I sit heavily on a stool as Kit opens a cupboard and pours me a glass of something dark.
“Drink this,” he says gently. He wraps my fingers around the glass, squeezing before he lets go. “It will help.”
I take a large gulp, and then cough as fire races through my veins. “Jesus.”
I wave Kit off when he reaches for the glass, taking another deep swig. And another, until the glass is clear. I hold it out to him silently, and he refills it for me.
“Rafe knew,” he says quietly, and I glance up at him. “That something was wrong. Laz had been gone too long, and he picked up on it. He ran, and we followed.”
I flex my wrist out, testing the sore muscle. “He did tell me not to leave the bedroom. I should have listened.”
Kit reaches for my wrist, his eyes flicking to me in silent request. When I nod, he carefully takes it in his hand, pressing gently against the bone. “It’s not broken.”
His fingers slide down to my hand, gripping it. I let him, let him hold onto me.
My voice is small when I speak again. “I didn’t… I didn’t think anyone would come. In time.”
“Stasi,” Kit says roughly when my voice cracks. “Come here.”