Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
ASHER
I glare at myself in the mirror. Eyes dead, blood drying on my lip, and her words playing on repeat in my head.
Leaning forward, I spit in the sink and then wash it down, my head pounding with her words.
It’s Emeric. My boss.
I helped…
There’s a light knock on the door, and my grip on the faucet tightens until the pipes groan under my hand. I had to get the fuck away from her before I did something I couldn’t take back.
Another knock.
“Fuck off.”
“Asher, please…” Ivy’s voice tugs at my rage, and I swing the door open to find her standing there, eyes rimmed red, hair a mess, and fucking lip quivering.
How’d we get to this point?
“You want to know what this was?” I lean on the basin. I want to see her take these words, swallow them, choke on them—fucking whatever. “A job.”
Her brows pinch. “What?”
“You heard me.” I shove myself through the doorway and into the bedroom. “I needed to know who was taking out La Maison. Needed a name. Needed a face. Couldn’t exactly walk up and ask.” I shrug, grabbing my shirt off the chair, and yanking it over my head.
“What about before—”she starts to say, and the laugh that leaves me is vile.
“Fake.” I turn back to her. “The whole thing. Everything.” I hold her stare and don’t blink. “You think I’d fucking love you?”
Her mouth opens, and then closes, as all the color drains from her face.
“I needed you close.” I hear my own voice go flat and I let it stay there. “Needed to see who you answered to. Who gave you Parker’s name. And you told me. Eventually.”
Her eyes land on mine. “I told you because I trusted you. Because you told me—” she blinks, as if just remembering something. “Nonna. I saw the blood of the sniper. I saw, and you said…”
I smirk. “The sniper is alive.”
Her lips part, and I see the raw truth of it, because as much as Ivy thinks she can mask her feelings, she can’t. At least not from me.
“But you want to know how.” There are too many ways I can hurt this woman, and only one that will work. “I put a round through his shoulder from fourteen hundred meters in pitch black with a crosswind pushing east.”
My eyes narrow, prodding her to catch on. “Fourteen hundred meters, Ivy. No night vision. No spotter.” I pause, letting the math do its own work. “And I still managed to miss every kill zone in his body by a clean six inches.”
She trips over her own feet when she steps back, her eyes wide and glassy. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” I jerk back with just enough sarcasm.
“You’re lying.” Louder now, her hand hitting the doorframe. “Because I know you. The before you—”
“People like us fake everything.” I raise my hands. “That’s the job, Ivy.” Fatigue squeezes out the last words. “You already know that.”
She changes her mind, crosses back into the room in four steps and shoves me, both palms flat against my chest.
I don’t move.
She shoves me again, harder, and a sound tears out of her throat that isn’t quite a cry and isn’t quite a sob.
“Then finish it!” She screams, veins swelling in her neck. “If that’s what this is, if I’m just a loose end, then finish it. Do it right now. Stop dragging it out and just—”She must notice the bored expression on my face, because she stops.
I let the silence hang heavy for a moment, staring through her like she’s fucking nothing. “Get out of my house.”
She blinks up at me wide-eyed and breathless.
I lean in closer. “Now.”
Ivy
His bedroom door clicks shut behind me, and I flatten my palm over my sternum as if it can stop my heart from beating out my chest. The world spins too fast to hold onto, so I start counting because numbers make sense and this whole fucking situation doesn’t.
One, two, three, four.
Emotional compromise leads to operational failure. Identify the threat. Neutralize the threat. If the threat is internal, compartmentalize. Seal it off. Lock it down.
My hands shake against my shirt, so I curl them into fists, breathing slowly until the tremors ease. Turning the handle, I push into my room.
The second the door closes, I head for the closet and drag out the suitcase I packed after Désamour. I shove the last of my things inside, zip it closed, and stand, giving the room one last look—the rumpled sheets, the cage I thought had me trapped—before heading for the exit.
“Ivy?” Khloe stops when she sees me coming out, her eyes dropping to the suitcase. “What’s happening? What did he—”
“Nothing,” I say, managing a smile that dies halfway there. “It was nice meeting you, Khloe.”
My shoulder brushes hers as I pass, ignoring her voice behind me. There are others at the edge of my vision, though I don’t care enough to look. Also, if I catch Camille smirking, I might accidentally finally kill her this time.
Daniel’s already beside the black SUV, one hand holding the back door open, those frown lines carved deep between his brows. Seeing him loosens the knot in my chest.
I slide into the backseat, cold leather biting the backs of my thighs as I press my forehead to the window, dragging my palm over my cheek.
Wet. Still wet.
Daniel settles behind the wheel without a word, starting the engine as gravel crunches beneath the tires.
My phone buzzes against my lap. I almost ignore it. Almost.
Emeric
My thumb hovers, then taps.
New job. Details incoming. Are you ready?
I stare at the screen until the letters blur. Then I type.
Nonna is dead. I’ve called you seventeen times. Seventeen. And you send me a job?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
I know she’s gone. I haven’t come to terms with it and I don’t want to talk about it.
I grind my teeth until pain shoots through my jaw, gripping the phone hard enough to make the case creak. I want to hurl it through the windshield and scream that she bled out in my arms, that she told me to trust him, that he’d keep me safe.
Will you take the job?
I swipe my cheeks one last time, rubbing all the evidence of my heartbreak away.
Yes. Give it to me.
Because fuck Asher Delacroix. The only way I know how to move on is by turning myself off.