ANYA
CHAPTER TWO
The baklava, a walnut-stuffed filo for which I used peanut oil, was almost done. Baklava—the nut-free alternative—was Thorne’s… Jetmir’s favorite.
Damn it, I didn’t even know what to call my husband.
Either way, I wished there was another way, but after our last fight, I knew there wasn’t. I grabbed any piece of art I could lift and threw it at Jetmir’s head.
He dodged it, of course, at the same time vowing I’d have to kill him to give up on us.
I believed him.
After, he brought me to his gilded cage; he had top-of-the-line security installed and the only time it wasn’t enabled was when he was home. I assumed it was because he was very confident in his skills to catch me before I had a chance to escape him.
Hence, my plan to disarm him… Okay, okay… poison him.
Still, that was better than being killed by the explosion. After my husband brought me to his “safe house” and ensured all was in order, he did go back to check on Gabriel and Amara. He informed me that Amara got them to safety and they were at the hospital, but they were fine.
Fine.
I scoffed.
I sincerely doubted they were fine after that kind of explosion. He was very dodgy when I asked if they were hurt. His answer was “a bit” and it made me want to scream. It wasn’t until I nagged the shit out of him that he admitted the explosion might have hurt Gabriel’s eyes.
My brother’s eyes!
I begged him to take me to see him. I pleaded and cried, but for the first time ever, Thorne… no, fucking Jetmir refused me. He told me it wasn’t safe. We were lucky that Gabriel and Amara showed up when they did because if we were sleeping, we’d both be dead.
What? How? Why?
None of it made sense.
I’d asked him repeatedly who caused the explosion. Who intended to kill us? But of course, the only answer I got was that the Triad would cease to exist when he was done with them. Whatever the heck that meant.
I stood over the oven, watching the golden edges through the glass as the smell of sugar filled the kitchen. My hands were trembling. I’d never hurt anyone, but I didn’t have a choice anymore. My family needed me and my husband refused to let me see them.
“You think I would let them take you from me?” he asked last night while he stood across from me furious, wild-eyed, his voice breaking.
“I will never give you up, Anya. You’re my air, and damn it, I should be your oxygen too.
Our vows are forever, and I’ll wage war against the whole world before I let them take you. ”
“They’re not taking me,” I screamed. “You took me. You lied to me.”
I stared at him, my heart still so in love with this man, but I simply couldn’t stay. Jetmir’s lies and schemes had brought us here, and damn it, nobody should have paid the price, but yet, my brother paid the highest price. Our actions had led to Gabriel losing his sight.
And now, Jetmir was refusing to let me go. Couldn’t he see that my family needed me? My brother needed me.
The oven timer rang and I flinched. For a moment, I’d forgotten I was baking.
I pulled the baklava from the oven and set it on the counter, staring at it.
Was I really going to go through with my plan?
My lips pressed into a thin line and determination washed over me.
I waited until the pastry had cooled enough, then brushed melted butter which contained finely crushed walnuts all over the top. My hands moved automatically, spreading it across the top, smoothing it.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
My husband was deathly allergic to nuts. He learned about it as a child, devouring a baklava. He mentioned that his guardian had a world-renowned cook develop a nut-free baklava recipe just for him and he often used it.
Anyways, back to my baklava with nuts.
My husband had an EpiPen around. He never went anywhere without it. Therefore, he’d be fine, my mind kept chanting. It was my heart that was the problem. It worried for him. Damn that stupid, useless and very unhelpful organ. It loved him and wanted him, refusing to let go.
I was beginning to realize neither my husband nor I nurtured a healthy obsession here.
That frightened me most.
All that man had to do was touch me or kiss me, and I was ready to forgive him for burning down the world, killing the human race… Heck, I would forgive him anything while he kissed me.
The sound of the kitchen door opening nearly stopped my heart.
I looked up and he stood there, tall and dark. My body instantly shuddered, and I fought the urge to run into his arms. But I didn’t.
“You made baklava?” he asked, a surprise flashing in his eyes. I wasn’t exactly known for cooking or baking, so I couldn’t blame him.
Smiling, I reached for the knife. He stiffened, probably expecting I’d throw it at him. Instead, I cut a piece of cake and placed it on a plate.
He walked into the kitchen as I extended both hands, holding the plate.
“Peace offering,” I said.
His expression softened and he took another step closer to me. “I thought you hated me.”
“I do.”
The words came out quieter than I expected.
His jaw tightened. “But you made me a desert.”
I looked away as I answered, “I hate when we fight.”
“Me too, angel,” he murmured, bringing his forehead to rest against mine.
For several heartbeats, neither one of us spoke. We stood like that, the peace offering between us a reminder that everything was about to change.
“Eat,” I finally urged, taking his hand and seating him at the little table. “I followed a recipe online, but I couldn’t tell if it’s good or not.”
I sat next to him as he took the first bite, watching him with bated breath. I waited for his allergy to kick in, terrified as I counted every second in my head.
He swallowed the first bite. Nothing.
“Hmm, it’s good,” he said, then took another bite.
My fingers curled into my palms, watching him chew, then bring another spoonful up. But then his hand froze right as he was about to take another bite.
His face changed colors.
He coughed. Once. Twice. Then he pushed himself up, using the table for support.
“Anya?”
I stood frozen, watching his breathing become ragged.
He looked at the baklava. Then at me. And I saw the exact moment he realized what I’d done. As understanding slowly filled his expression, horror soon followed it.
His eyes found me, disbelief and betrayal swimming in them.
“What did you do?”
I slid the wedding ring off my finger, put it on the table. My eyes filled with tears as I stood up, then took a step backwards. “I tried to warn you.”
“No.” His voice cracked. “No, no, no.”
He took a step forward too quickly and nearly fell. “Anya.”
I backed toward the door while he watched me with a twisted expression filled with pain.
“You poisoned me?”
“I lied to my family and friends about you. I broke so many rules for you. I would have done anything for you. I loved you so much and would do anything to be with you,” I breathed. “We crossed too many lines. We hurt people, especially Gabriel. He needs me and I cannot ignore him for you.”
“No.” His voice became a desperate roar. He staggered toward me. “You don’t get to leave me.”
I shook my head. “I am leaving you.”
His eyes were like thunderclouds, slowly filling with anguish.
“You said you’d never give me up,” I whispered.
“I won’t.” He collapsed against the table, gasping. “I can’t give you up.”
I opened the kitchen door, unable to keep looking at him. If I caved in now and tended to him, I’d never leave him. “Goodbye, Jetmir Thorne.”
“Anya!” His agonizing scream echoed behind me. It followed me into the hallway. “ANYA!”
I could hear him choking out my name again and again, his screams tearing through the house. But beneath the agony was something worse. The sound of a man realizing, too late, that the person he had sworn never to lose was already gone.
I didn’t take anything with me. I didn’t look back. I just ran, ignoring my aching heart that demanded I go back.
The Albanian hospital in Vlore smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee. Outside, the city was bright and alive, but here, everything felt gray. Or maybe that was my mood, knowing I’d left my husband and my heart in the kitchen of the place we made our home for the short weeks we’d been together.
Walking down the corridor, my fingers twisted the spot where my wedding ring used to be. I missed the weight of it. Damn, I even missed that psychopath, but I knew our relationship—marriage—was going nowhere.
I stopped outside the hospital room and took a breath, terrified of what I would find when I entered. I’d seen my brother injured before. Bruised, bleeding, exhausted. I had seen him come home with blood on his shirt and I always knew not to question or ask for details.
But this was different. This time, my actions directly led to him getting hurt.
Inhaling deeply, then slowly exhaling, I pushed the door open.
Gabriel was sitting upright in the hospital bed, his head turned slightly toward the window. His eyes were bandaged, and the sight hit me hard.
“Hey,” I whispered.
His head whipped around in my direction. “Anya?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “I’m so happy to see…” He trailed off, then swallowed. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Me too.” I let out a shaky laugh as I walked toward him, then took his hand in mine. “God, Gabriel, I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” I rasped.
He patted a spot next to him. “Sit and we can debate about that.”
I sat beside his bed. His fingers gripped mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. I stared at his face, trying not to stare at his bandaged eyes, but it was impossible not to feel this guilt that swelled in my chest.
“Does it hurt?” I finally asked.
He shook his head.
“Can you see anything?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.” I squeezed his hand and he squeezed mine back. “It will be okay. I’m hopeful.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“It is. I just—”
“Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do.”
I looked down at our hands.
There were so many things I wanted to say. But somehow, words were stuck in my throat and nothing I could possibly say felt important enough in the face of his blindness.
“Jetmir came to see me.”
My entire body went still.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I looked at him. “Why?”
“I guess he was hoping for some pointers when it came to you.” He gave a humorless laugh. “But I didn’t give him any. I wouldn’t negotiate with him the first time, never mind now.”
“First time?”
“Yeah, he approached me a while back in the Revelation club.”
“In Connecticut?”
“Yes.”
That made no sense. “But why?”
“To make a deal with me. It was the first time he mentioned you. It should have been my warning.”
My stomach dropped. “What kind of deal?”
He was quiet for a moment and I had a feeling I wouldn't like what I learned next.
“He offered me Amara in exchange for you.”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
I felt the blood drain from my face. “What?”
“He said he’d give me Amara if I gave him you.”
I gave my head a subtle shake. “Yeah, I heard you. But he… He actually said that?”
“Yes.”
I pulled my hand away without meaning to, standing abruptly.
“He thought he could—”
“He was trying to bargain.”
“Over me?”
“Over both of you.”
I paced toward the window, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Jetmir was bargaining with us like we were pieces on a board. Like our lives could be exchanged between men who thought they had the right to decide what happened to us.
“What did you say?”
My brother turned his face toward me.
“I told him no, of course. He said he would give you more than anyone else. Freedom. Empire. But it was all a lie, because he didn’t even give you the freedom of choice.”
I winced, unable to find the words or to look at my brother out of shame. Yes, Jetmir lied about his identity, but I couldn’t say that since I’d met Jetmir, choices hadn’t been my own.
“You didn’t even consider it?” I asked, looking back at him.
“No.” He shifted against the pillows, his expression hardening. “I don’t trade lives, Anya. Not Amara’s. Not anyone’s. But especially not yours.” His voice cracked slightly. “You’re my sister. My flesh and blood.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Jetmir seems to think people are currency.”
I felt tears burn behind my eyes.
“He said he’d give me Amara,” my brother continued, “as if she belonged to him to give her away in the first place.”
I wiped quickly at my eyes.
“And you told him?”
“I told him no, and if I caught him anywhere near you, I'd kill him. He has long hated the fact I was interested in Amara, so I assume it was his way to get me to back off. By threatening me that he would pursue you.”
My throat tightened. “You think… that’s the only reason he did all this. The only reason he married me?”
He turned his face toward me, even though he couldn’t see me.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Sincerity shone in his voice.
“I want to say yes, but the way he talked about you—” He shook his head.
“It was like he already considered you his. In retrospect, I should have warned you and our families about it. If I had, you’d have been wary of him the moment you met him. ”
I closed my eyes, my heart twisting inside my chest. Was I a bargaining chip to my husband? Did he want more power or did he really care about me? It was hard to trust anything right now.
“When did this happen?” I asked, opening my eyes and staring out the window, but not seeing the city below me.
“At the same time Amara, Skye, and Penelope were visiting the club.”
The lump in my throat grew, and I struggled to swallow. It felt like my heart cracked in half, and the splinter jagged its thorns into every fiber of me.
Jetmir approached Gabriel before we met. He couldn’t have possibly considered me his because I went parachuting the following month. That was where we met, although maybe even that was a lie.
I could feel my broken heart harden with every passing second. Everything with Thorne—or Jetmir rather—was a lie.
I walked back to the bed and sat beside Gabriel, and took his hand again. This time, I held it with both of mine.
“No more about Jetmir,” I said.
Although we stopped talking about my husband, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that this wasn’t the end. No matter how much I wanted it to be.