Chapter 9 #2
I’ve already said too much, felt way more, and the longer I’m around him the worse it gets, so I brace myself for the rejection. For him to push me away, probably into Atlas to deal with me, if I had to guess the vibe of what his duty is.
His finger hooks beneath my chin, killing every thought in my head. He tips my face toward his, and the panic clawing at my ribs eases.
Blue eyes hold me there. For a single, stupid moment we’re back to how we used to be.
What made you this way? Probably fucking me.
His pupils dilate as his grip loosens. In a flash, that softness is gone, jaw hardening. My legs turn to jelly and it takes all my concentration to not fucking drop.
“No.” His thumb circles the side of my cheek before he leans in, lips grazing mine. “You have to be safe, Venom.” This was the Asher I rem— “Only I get to kill you.”
Reality collapses around me as he walks away.
Only I get to kill you.
I had it twisted. Asher isn’t addictive because he’s a drug. The drug is dirty. It’s the part people don’t want. Asher is the high. He’s what makes you crawl back for more.
Of course he wouldn’t make this easy for me. Asher is young, but he’s not stupid. He’s years beyond his age.
And I’m a fucking idiot.
I push forward with Daniel trailing behind me. We hit the main foyer and I scan the room, wondering which door he went behind.
“Ivy…” Atlas calls out, but his voice dies in the background as my hand finds the handle of the door beside mine.
His body moves between me and my plan. “Wow! No, you don’t want to go in there.”
“Move, Atlas!” I shove his arm out of my way.
As if I could see worse than I already have.
His hand slips into mine briefly, taking my phone.
“Fine!” he yells from behind, and the door swings open as the words leave him. “I warned you…”
Asher flicks a pen across his desk, leaning back in his chair and zeroing in on me. “What now, Venom?”
“Listen.” Now that I’m here, I forgot why it was important.
Why was he in a rush to get away from me, anyway?
His gaze follows my movements, as if my presence doesn’t bother him the same way it keeps me up at night. He’s going to kill me anyway, may as well word vomit my way into the ground.
“I can’t miss this,” I repeat, lowering to the single sofa that faces him. It’s far enough to grab a weapon if he attacks, but close enough to catch every emotion.
He holds my stare. “You said that already.”
I could tell him. Tell him about our family tradition, but he won’t understand what it means if he doesn’t understand how it started in the first place.
This is bad.
Emeric is going to lose it. I can’t. Or… maybe he already knows? Since he seems to be privy to so much already.
Even if he doesn’t, I’m sure this whole situation is way out of L’Abattoir Codex.
Surely the rules are moot at this point.
I don’t remember a section of if kidnapped and being held against your will by a subject you thought you killed, who also happens to be the only man you’ve ever loved, here is what you are to do…
“I need to tell you something.” I hold my breath.
Twelve.
Twelve years old, I turned off the faucet that fed my emotions and swore never to allow it to open again. Clearly, I missed the times that Asher had slowly worked to loosen it.
He already knows what I do, but he doesn’t know the mechanics of it.
“Stop.” His lip curls, the edges of his stare darkening.
Even dressed casually, he fills the room with more power than anyone would in a suit.
How, after all the people I’ve been toe-to-toe with, is it him that brings me to my knees?
A groan distracts me from behind. “Ah, fuck. My bad...” Atlas murmurs, as Asher’s long legs eat up the space between us.
His words are for his twin but his focus never strays from me. “Get out.”
The door clicks closed as Asher rests against his desk, fingers wrapping around the edge. He squeezes so hard I swear I hear the wood splint before he releases the tension.
“Don’t.” His face stays hard as stone. “I already know.”
My mouth opens, needing him to elaborate but also fucking terrified if he’s right. “What?”
He drags his tongue across his lip, looking to the side briefly before a sarcastic chuckle leaves him. “I already know.”
My stomach bottoms out. “No, but…”
“But nothing,” he snaps, baring his teeth. “Don’t say another fucking word.”
A chill spreads through me, freezing me in place.
I fell in love with Asher because he was the opposite of the men I knew, the men I was around, the man I married. I loved him because he knew how to be gentle and funny, yet another side of him could be hard and protective. I saw it once and wanted more.
He’s a damn honey trap with pretty eyes.
We don’t say another word, but the world slows, failing at translating the silence that passes between us.
Finally, I shake my head. “Impossible. How long have you known?”
My chair scrapes against the floor before I realize I’m pushing away from him. “Who are you?”
How would he know exactly who we are? No one knows who we are but the people who are meant to know. Not a single intelligence in the world could scope us, so how could someone like him?
Silence stretches between us. When I think he’s not going to say anything at all, the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Mmm.” His head tilts to the side as he takes his time dragging his eyes over every inch of my body before landing back on my face. “Not very fucking nice finding out the person you fell in love with may not be who you thought they were, huh?”
“Maybe,” I say, doing my best to ignore his admission to loving me and focusing on the catastrophe of this moment. “But I didn’t lie about the fact that I fucking loved you, Asher.”
Okay, that wasn’t the plan, but I guess we’re doing this now.
“Oh?” His brows shoot up. “Before or after you thought you killed me?”
My jaw locks.
Everything shrinks around me because check fucking mate.
Because I know I deserve his wrath, since I fucked up first. Because no matter how many times I tell him I’m sorry, or that I truly loved him, it won’t change the fact that I still aimed a bullet right at him, point blank, and watched him die like he was the enemy.
I’m a monster.
I’m a fucking monster just like them.
I wrap my arms around myself like it’s going to stop my insides from spilling out. “I’m sorry…”
He snickers. “Ivy, I don’t want your apology. I want you to tell me who ordered it.”
Everything stops.
Time, my thoughts, my damn breathing.
His tongue rolls over his bottom lip as if contemplating how to articulate his next words. “I don’t have time for this bullshit. Tell me who it was so I can deal with it and move the fuck on.”
To be fair, this isn’t an exactly out of pocket claim, since it’s the most logical reason as to why I did what I did.
Only, logic doesn’t have shit to do with it.
I let the words roll from my mouth slowly. “Even if the target was you, I don’t know who orders it. That’s not how this works.”
I hold my breath, hoping he’d fill the silence with more of his own conspiracies, since it seems healthier than I don’t know… fucking your ex, marrying your enemy, throwing a party in your husband’s house and letting him think you’ve been spit-roasted by other men.
The smile I try to force dies before it even forms.
“Just know that it wasn’t you…” Realization dawns on me. “Wait.”
I lift my hands. “Do you think my falling for you was me moving in on my new target? As in black widowing you?”
He doesn’t answer, holding me in place with a stare I never want to be on the receiving end of again.
Every piece of rubble from every single wall he’s eradicated drops down on me all at once. My brain turns to static as saliva fills my mouth.
“You weren’t!” I whisper, my body shaking.
I need him to believe that.
He looks right through me like anything I say means less than shit.
“Asher.” New direction. How can I make him see reason? “If it was you, why did I kill... attempt to kill you on the spot?”
His gaze drops to the choker locked around my neck before trailing back to my face, once again unbothered. “Because some shit went haywire between you and Parker and you needed to get it over with quickly.”
Laughter dies in my throat as I fall back in my chair. “I don’t have time for this.”
I bury my face in my hands, dragging my fingers through my hair until it falls around my face. I don’t even have time to unpack why he would think his name would appear on a roster of evil fucking people.
He widens his stance. I don’t bother hiding my gawking as I travel up his thighs and past the planes of his stomach, until slowly landing back on his face. From this angle, he holds every card. With anyone else, that wouldn’t fly, but with him…
“Wait.” There’s a lot of waiting going on, but every time I think I’ve worked something out, I land back at square one. “How do I know I wasn’t your target?”
His jaw clenches. “Because I’m not a hitman.”
He doesn’t sugarcoat his words, leaving them out in the open for anyone to consume.
I freeze, head turning over my shoulder to assess every threat in the room.
He deadpans. “No one can hear shit.”
Tension snaps and I can breathe again. “So, if you’re not, then…”
My brows pull inward. I need them not to since Botox isn’t exactly cheap, but the confusion of his words only pulls me deeper into the mud.
“I’m not,” he repeats, his tone final. “You know who I am, Ivy. I never hid that shit from you. I showed you the real me when everyone else got the masked version, not the other way around. You know me better than I know me.”
Pause, and those dark edges eat away at the wolf-blue in his eyes again. “It’s me who doesn’t know you.”