Chapter 7 #2
“I don’t know if you know this,” I say, turning to him. “But I don’t need a babysitter.” My back hits the double doors, finding the handle. “Or a spy. I’m not going to kill your brother. It’s clear he simply can’t die.”
Thud.
My grin slips off my face.
Atlas stiffens.
“What was that?” I whisper, not exactly needing him to answer.
I’m moving before I realize it, pushing the door open with my fingertip.
My stomach drops.
Camille is sprawled across Asher’s desk, thighs spread, her back arched so hard I can see each line of her spine. His fist is tangled in her hair, hauling her up to bare her throat as the mahogany desk scrapes across the floor with every hard thrust.
Caffeine and murder.
Atlas closes in from behind, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “So can I have your answer now? Wanna play with me, Ivy?”
Asher’s head snaps up, eyes locking on me.
His lips curve into a cruel smirk, dragging each stroke out slowly until Camille’s whimpers turn ragged.
She moans into the scattered papers beneath her, her body tightening around him.
Every muscle in my body hardens, the floor beneath my feet swaying.
A hand slides over my hip, and Asher locks onto where Atlas spreads his fingers across my belly.
“Did you know we’ve shared her?” He presses through silk. “Often.”
Asher tightens his hand around Camille’s throat, tipping her head back. His tongue traces her jaw, moving over her cheekbone to her temple while never breaking eye contact with me.
Atlas nips at my ear. “Yet he wouldn’t… share you.”
I back us up until the door closes.
I need to get the fuck out of here before I do something that shows my entire ass humanity and Asher uses it as a weapon to destroy me.
My shoulder slams into Atlas as I barge past, desperate for my cage after all. I’ve played games. Many over the years. The only difference is they were safe, compartmentalized behind the fact that I didn’t give a fuck. Which means about zero right now, since I definitely do give a fuck.
As soon as I’m back in my room, I rest against the door. What is wrong with me? I need to pull my shit together.
I head for the bathroom, turning on the shower and not bothering to wait for it to heat before stepping under the spray of water.
Hopefully I can scrub the humiliation off my face, since my heart won’t calm the fuck down.
I kill the shower and wrap my body in a towel, swiping the mirror clean. Rule three of the Codex, is there are no rules. There’s just contamination.
My fist smashes into the mirror, sending glass flying. Blood runs between my fingers from a gash splitting the side of my hand.
I feel nothing.
Drip. Drip.
Three years being traumatized, fifteen becoming a weapon to dismantle people just like him. And it takes Asher fucking Jameson less than that to pull all my training apart. None of the training I ever did prepared me for this. For watching a man I...
My throat closes. You don’t get to fall apart.
I drop to the floor, clutching my hand. What the fuck are you doing.
Pulling the first aid kit from the cabinet, I flip through the items and grab my phone with my other hand, hitting dial on the group chat. I don’t care who answers. So long as it’s one of them.
Punk’s name flashes over the screen. She picks up on the first ring. “Hey, you!”
I sniff. “I need your help.”
She pauses. I know what she’s thinking. Oh shit. Someone’s about to die.
“You ok?” She shuts out the noise with a click of a door.
“Yes,” I tug the thread and needle and draw it through the hole. “I just need you. And Punk?”
Silence.
My mouth curves. “Bring everyone.”
The first stitch goes in clean. Needle through skin, then pull, tie, and trim. I’ve done this a hundred times. This I know. Everything becomes steady, my breathing, my pulse. My pain.
Cleaning the wound, I press the edges together. “Don’t pull too tight or you’ll tear the tissue, Ivanya. Don’t leave it loose or it opens again.”
I miss Nonna. What was she thinking? Did she know that David was Asher?
Wrapping up the wound, I toss everything into the bin before burying myself in the closet to find something to distract me.
Footsteps echo down the hall. Heavy, then slower, stopping right outside my door.
Air stalls in my chest as I creep closer, pulse swelling with each inch until I flatten my palm against the wood and slide down.
A soft thud vibrates through the door against my spine.
Everything hits me at once. From the stitches in my hand, to the ones you can’t see.
Love.
I understand now why it was considered a contaminant in the Codex.
I’m sorry, Asher. For everything, but more than anything, for loving you.
Eventually, his breathing changes, and the footsteps retreat down the hall.
I turn my face just enough to hear better, committed to my own humiliation all the way down.
“Sinead.” His voice cuts through the door. “Camille and I won’t be home tonight.”
The room tilts beneath me, ribs crushing down on organs that feel too heavy.
I can’t breathe.
Camille and I won’t be home tonight.
Everything blurs around me as the first tear drops.