Chapter 14 #2
“I was thinking he was going to rape her,” I yell, not worried about Melinda hearing from her place in my bedroom.
“We’re not arguing the act,” Caleb says. “We’re arguing the lack of calculation. You orbit her and that fixation is going to destroy you.”
Adrian’s mouth hardens. “Your obsession is sloppy, and sloppy is weak, two things I never thought I’d see from you. Not to mention every rival will threaten you through her.”
“And every rival will die,” I answer.
Caleb swears under his breath.
“I’ve mitigated the immediate risks,” Adrian says. “I wiped the security footage clean and crafted emails from Wyatt's account. HR gets three emails and a phone call. Phone GPS shows him driving south. We’ll dispose of the body.”
I know without Adrian having to say it that the emails aren't about covering for me, they're a stalling tactic, a way to muddy the waters until Wyatt's absence becomes a concern, and his body is discovered.
“We’ll have it all displayed,” Caleb says. “We’ll stage a trail that ends in the desert with a stalled car and no signal. Enough ambiguity to keep it cold.”
That knowledge is a cold comfort. It's a band-aid over a gaping wound. I could give a fuck if Wyatt’s death is attached to me and I spend my life in a six by eight cell.
What I care about is upstairs, forever changed by what happened last night.
No amount of carefully planned ruse can change what she witnessed.
“Thank you,” I say. “All of you.”
“You’ve got to get her on board with this Cassius. She witnessed what you did,” Adrian says. “We cannot risk a variable that big.”
“I know that,” I admit. “I don’t think she’ll say anything.”
“Thinking and not knowing is how men die,” Caleb says, repeating something I’ve told him countless times.
“I can’t exactly chain her to my bed,” I say.
“Well…” Atlas starts.
“Not going to happen,” I snap, stopping him from continuing. “She’s here with me now. I won’t let her out of my sight until I know what to do about this hellacious mess.”
“Call us if you need anything,” Caleb says.
“Don’t call me, I’m going to bed,” Adrian says.
“I know I’ve been a loose cannon lately. She drives me wild. I’ll do better. I’ll get her through this and then I swear I’ll be more like before.”
“You mean a quiet, calculated, ass hole?” Atlas says, finally laughing. “No thanks,” He continues before I can answer. “I’m all about the new you.”
One by one my brothers click off. I’m the last one to exit the chat screen. Adrian will erase our conversation from existence. I wish he could erase Melinda’s whole night.
The truth of the matter is, I would’ve killed Wyatt for just scaring her with words. Once he touched her, not even God would’ve been able to stop me from slitting his throat. I only have two regrets.
Melinda was there.
I couldn’t make him suffer first.
There’s a satisfaction in killing for me, but it’s not like some of the sick fucks I’ve come across who get some sexual release from the act of ending a person’s life.
I killed my father to survive. It was him or me.
Not dying that day set me on the trajectory I’m on now.
I don’t kill innocent people. I suppose I could stop if I wanted to.
My brother’s would support a legit business, free from the extra services, namely me, that we provide.
But, I don’t want to stop. It truly is as simple as that.
I may not be a serial killer in the traditional get off on it sense, but when I rid the earth of people worse than the devil himself, yeah, I get off on that.
I won’t stop until I cut my way through Spiderweb and find what happened to London. My cousin’s name is a splinter I can’t dig out. Until I know who took her, and why she never came back, my hands will keep doing what they do.
I'm left pacing the confines of my office, the gravity of my next moves pressing down on me.
Melinda, unwittingly thrust into the shadows of my world, represents a variable I've never contended with—an innocent whose life I've endangered, not physically by my hand but in every other conceivable way.
The possibility that she might betray me to the authorities lingers at the back of my mind, an insidious whisper.
Yet something in her eyes, in the trust she placed in me by coming here, however shaken, tells me she won't. But trust alone isn't enough, not in our world.
My brothers' warnings about the dangers of letting someone so unaccustomed to our life get close echo in my head, amplifying my resolve. There are ways to try to keep someone safe in my world. Relocation. New identity. Safe house. And then there’s the one way everyone in the dark respects immediately: marriage.
A ring is a perimeter. My name is her armor.
The wife of an Ashenheart is an off-limits box.
I’m a selfish bastard when it comes to her, but it’s also the cleanest move.
Anyone half awake can see what she is to me.
Blake already put Lindy on her radar. Keeping my distance doesn’t make her less of a target.
Tying her to me permanently ensures her safety in the long term.
No one who knows me, who knows The Machine, would be stupid enough to come anywhere near her.
A plan begins to take shape, one born of desperation and the instinct to protect at all costs. It's audacious, perhaps even mad, but it's the only way to ensure Melinda's silence becomes her only choice, sealed by a bond stronger than fear.
I pull out my phone, Googling various places until I find what I need.
A priest, someone with enough understanding of the underbelly of Vegas not balk at my request. Dialing the number, I brace for the conversation, ready to broker a deal that will bind Melinda to me in the eyes of God, the devil, and man.
It's a gamble, staking everything on the belief that the ties we forge now will be enough to keep us both from unraveling.
The call connects, and I speak, my voice steady, “I need a favor, one that requires discretion.” The pieces are moving, set in motion by a choice made in the heat of the moment, and now, there's no turning back.
I don’t go back in my room that night. Or the next day.
I set food down, take plates away. She doesn’t leave.
Her color returns by inches. Once, when she thinks I’m not looking, she stares at the corner and whispers, “Go away.” My skin crawls with the urge to ask what she sees.
But, we don’t speak. I want to give her time to process Wyatt’s death and her role in it.
She didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t pray, but if I did I’d be praying that she isn’t blaming herself for his death.
On the morning of day two, I carry breakfast in and don’t leave.
She’s sitting by the window, knees up, hands wrapped around a mug.
The light hits the cut on her cheekbone and makes it glow.
She's been here, in my space, for two nights, yet the distance between us feels like miles.
The silence has been a constant companion, but today, I'm determined to bridge that gap with my plan.
“Lindy girl,” I start, my voice breaking the silence. She turns, her eyes meeting mine, and the weight of the last few days reflect back at me. “We need to talk.”
She nods, a silent gesture for me to continue, her posture tense.
“I've been thinking about the best way to keep you safe, to…rectify our situation,” I say, carefully choosing my words. “And I've come to a decision.”
Her brow furrows, a mixture of confusion and apprehension in her gaze. “What decision?”
“We do the one thing every devil I know respects.” I watch for her reaction as I continue. “We get married.”
My words hang between us, charged and heavy. For a moment, Melinda is silent, her expression unreadable. Then, the floodgates open.
“Married?” she echoes, disbelief lacing her tone. “You think marriage is the solution to this mess?”
“I think marriage is a line nobody crosses if they want to keep breathing. I think putting my name on you buys you space to heal without looking over your shoulder. It binds you to me, and you being my wife will keep you safe from my enemies. Only a suicidal person would go after you once it spreads in my world that you’re mine.
It's not just about solving that problem,” I explain, standing and moving closer to her.
“It's about protection, for both of us. But, more than that, it's because I care for you.
More than I should. More than I've ever cared for anyone.”
She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Care for me?” Her voice is paper thin. “Is that why you're doing this? Or is it guilt? Or maybe a sense of duty because of…because of what happened to Wyatt? You do realize I wouldn’t need to be protected if I wasn’t associated with you, right?”
Her accusation stings, but I don’t blame her for feeling this way.
“It's not about duty or guilt. I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for Wyatt’s death, and you shouldn’t either.
I am sorry you saw it. I will be sorry for that until I’m in the ground.
” I sit forward, forearms on my knees. “This isn’t punishment.
It’s me putting myself between you and the world.
And if you say no, I won’t chain you to the bed.
I’ll give you other options and I’ll still stand between you and the world. ”
“Punishment,” she whispers, her voice trailing off. “Maybe it is. Maybe it's exactly what I deserve.”
Hearing her say that, seeing the guilt consume her, breaks something inside me.