Chapter 18
ELLIE
Aria leaves the study shortly after her ominous proclamation, claiming she has “things” to attend to.
I don’t even want to know what “things” she’s referring to. Whatever it is can’t be good.
“I fucking hate this.” Zane begins to pace, brisk, angry strides that eat up the distance of the room in less than a few seconds. “I really, really fucking hate this. Have I mentioned I hated this already?”
“Once or twice,” Dominic drawls. He claimed one of the love seats, his legs kicked out in front of him. But despite his lackadaisical pose, I can sense the tension radiating from him, the strain in his shoulders and neck.
“Maybe three times,” Beckett pipes in.
“I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.” Zane abruptly stops moving directly in front of the desk. With a growl, he reaches for the miniature globe residing there and tosses it into the nearest wall. It crashes, dozens of plastic pieces raining in all directions.
Beckett arches his eyebrows. “Did that make you feel good?”
A pout touches Zane’s lips. “Not really.”
“Look.” Dom stands, bracing his hands on his thighs to push himself up.
His emerald-green eyes survey the three of us.
“I don’t think any of us like this. At all.
” He turns toward me, and a muscle in his throat bobs, his jaw clenching.
“We were supposed to protect you, yet we somehow walked you straight into POP’s arms.”
“Technically, I walked myself into POP’s arms,” I point out, trying to make light of the situation. I hate the tension saturating the air. The guilt swarming in my men’s eyes.
“We fucked up,” Beckett breathes, sagging against the wall. “We were supposed to give you the world, yet you’re here. Imprisoned. About to endure who the hell knows what.”
“I vote we just kill them all,” Zane pipes in, his gaze fixed on the jagged plastic pieces. Carefully, he bends down and grabs one, turning it around and around in his hands. “Do you think I can stab someone with this hard enough for them to bleed?”
“Depends on where you stab them,” Dom inserts.
“And how hard,” Beckett adds. Then a frown tugs at his lips. “Or is it how deep?”
“How hard and how deep,” Dom clarifies.
Zane nods and then dramatically thrusts his arm forward and up, like he’s jabbing someone in the chin. “How’s this?”
“Harder,” Dom drolls.
“Deeper,” Beckett says.
Zane once again pantomimes jabbing the plastic shard upward. “Better?”
“Need it to be harder,” Dom insists.
“And deeper,” adds Beckett.
The laughter I’ve been holding back finally bubbles free. I throw my head back and laugh until tears prick my eyes, then eventually cascade down my cheeks. All three men watch me with varying expressions on their faces.
Adoration.
Love.
Relief.
Once my giggles subside, I use the pad of my thumb to wipe away a few wayward tears hanging stubbornly to my cheeks.
“That felt…good,” I confess, biting down on my lower lip. “Really good.”
“You haven’t laughed like that in a while,” Dom points out.
“It’s been too long,” Beckett agrees.
Zane simply offers me a secretive smile, no doubt thinking about our little game earlier.
The tattoo on his chest…
My heart flutters, gaining wings, and I’m overcome with love for these men all over again.
Silence settles over us all, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind.
Yes, it’s still rife with tension, but it’s not unbearable.
Before, it felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, making it immensely difficult to suck in a full lungful of air.
Now, that weight has lifted, and I can finally breathe.
I hold my hands up, and Beckett and Dominic both step forward and claim one. Zane remains where he is, watching the three of us, his expression unreadable.
“We’re going to be okay,” I assure them.
“I don’t know what Aria has planned, but…
We’ll get through it. All of us.” There’s so much more I want to say, so much I want to promise them, but I don’t dare speak the words out loud.
Not here. Not in the metaphorical lion’s den.
Aria no doubt suspects that we’re actively plotting her downfall. We don’t need to broadcast it aloud.
“I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from us,” Zane vows solemnly, his dark eyes obsidian chips in his face. “Don’t test me, Ellie.”
“Nothing matters more than your safety,” Dom agrees, using his free hand to ruffle his platinum-blond locks.
“If she tries anything, we’ll get you out of here, regardless of the consequences.
I’d rather be on the run for the rest of our lives than be in a world without you in it.
” Dom’s expression shutters, as if overcome by a strong emotion, and he grits out, “Without any of you in it.”
“We’re family,” Beckett agrees. “We’re ride or die.”
“Without the die part,” Dom quickly cuts in.
Zane makes a face, his nose wrinkling almost comically. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far…”
“You want us to die?” Dom stares at him incredulously, his brows arching until they reach his hairline.
“Not us, obviously. But other people? I don’t care too much. I actually prefer it.”
“Wouldn’t that mean we’re ride or murder?” Beckett asks, canting his head to the side. A strand of brown hair kisses his temple enticingly, and if I had a free hand, I would brush it away.
“Ride or murder.” Zane taps a finger against his chin contemplatively. “I like it.”
Dom rolls his eyes. “You all are so fucked up.”
“Is this a blanket ‘you all’?” I query. “Because I, for one, am not fucked up.”
Dom presses a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering, his warm breath fanning across my skin and eliciting a fresh round of goose bumps.
“You’re perfect,” he promises.
My heart swells at his declaration.
These men—all five of them—are my center, helping me find my equilibrium again when the world threatens to cave in beneath my feet.
We’ll get through this.
All of us.
I refuse to allow any other alternative.
Hours later, after futilely searching the office for any damning evidence and coming up empty, I hear muffled music, followed shortly by chatter and laughter.
Dom, Beckett, Zane, and I remain in the study, wondering what Aria has planned for us. I can tell the others are anxious, but I’m not. I truly believe I can handle whatever she throws my way.
The door to the study slides open, and a familiar masked figure strides into the room.
I know that the woman behind the mask is Aria, yet all I can see is The Divine One—the entity who once appeared larger than life, who murdered and tortured and destroyed everyone around me. Fear causes my heart to race, my palms turning damp.
Aria lifts her hands and pushes back her hood, revealing her sweat-slick blonde hair.
She then removes her mask, allowing it to hang limply at her side.
Her cheeks are flushed, but I know it’s not a product of alcohol or drugs.
I can’t imagine The Divine One would ever let loose enough to actually enjoy the festivities she puts on.
She’s always on alert, always gauging the reactions of others, always searching for the closest threat.
Glee lights her smile as she focuses on me. “Ellie, are you ready for your performance?”
My stomach swoops upward, attempting to displace my lungs.
“What are you going to have me do?” Nebulous fear tiptoes up my neck, and I find myself moving closer to Zane, pressing against him. His arms band around me instantly, caging me in.
Aria’s cold eyes narrow on me. “What type of person do you think I am? What type of mother? I’m not a monster.
I’m not going to have you do anything…uncouth.
” She gives me a pitying shake of her head, like she thinks it’s unbearably sad that I jumped to these conclusions.
“You’re a musician, correct? According to Fischer and some of my other sources, you’re quite good. ”
“She’s the best,” Dom pipes in, a hint of pride seeping into his voice, despite our situation.
Molten pleasure arcs through me at his compliment. A flush enters my cheeks.
“I’m decent,” I correct.
Aria’s smile tightens. “Don’t be modest, my daughter. It’s okay to admit you’re the best.” She steps forward, her heels clicking on the wooden floorboards, and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Our family has always been the best.”
Oh. Yuck.
Does she even hear herself when she talks?
Aria straightens and slides her mask back into place. She reaches for her hood next, securing it around her head and tucking away any loose flyaway hairs.
“Now…” Her mechanical voice—a product of the voice box in the mask—grates on me. It slices at my skin like the dull edge of a blade, sharp enough to cut but not necessarily draw blood. “Shall we head out?”