35. Jetmir
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
JETMIR
Iscooped up my wife’s sated, limp body into my arms and cradled her close to my chest as I walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Outside, rain had eased out almost at the same time as we came back from our own high, and I wondered if maybe whoever—if anyone—was watching up there was following our love story. If they were, I hoped they’d take pity on me and give my wife back despite all the mistakes I’d made.
My wife’s bedroom door was a few feet away, and I hoped—even prayed for the first time in my life—that she would want to be back in my bed.
“Your bedroom or mine?” I asked while internally cursing myself. Why was I even giving her an option? She belonged in my bed, my home, and my life. The thing was… I wanted her to choose my bed and me.
She stiffened and I knew the answer before she uttered it. “Mine.”
I came to a stop in front of her room, and I reluctantly let her slip out of my arms. She hadn’t even taken a step and I already missed her.
“Good night, Jetmir,” she murmured, not meeting my eyes as she reached for the door handle.
“Good night, wife.”
And she shut the door in my face.
My heart twisted with agony. I fought the urge to barge through that door and demand she slept in my room, or at least let me sleep in hers.
Instead I headed into my own bedroom before I did something stupid. I was still buck-ass naked, so I headed into my closet, grabbed a clean pair of gray sweatpants, and pulled them on while my mind swirled with so many thoughts.
I sat on the bed and put my head between my hands, my elbows resting on my knees and my fingers clutching at my strands.
Fuck, why did it hurt? Why did I fuck up so badly? Why… why… why… so many whys and somehow I’d caused them all.
Maybe that was the reason it was so hard to love me.
My mind drifted to the past, to the memory from my childhood I hated to remember. I was only six, but it fucking hit hard.
The swings squeaked as they rose and fell in the spring breeze, while children’s laughter echoed across the schoolyard.
I sat beneath the old oak tree with my knees pulled against my chest, staring at all the carefree children waiting for their parents to pick them up. My sister and I wouldn’t be picked up by a parent. Kian, or one of his men, would come and pick us up.
“Do you think we’ll ever meet our mother?” I asked Elira.
She sat next to me, mirroring my position, but her attention was on the clouds, not the children around us.
“Who cares,” she mumbled.
“I do.”
She finally looked away from the clouds. “Why do you always ask about her?”
I glanced around, another parent welcoming their child with open arms. One of the boys from our class ran into his mother’s arms and laughed, kissing him everywhere.
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Kian takes care of us,” she said in a flat tone. “That’s all we need.”
“But he isn’t our mom.”
He told us the story of our mom and explained we’d meet her when it was safe. But he didn’t say when that would be. He didn’t say whether she was looking for us. He didn’t say whether she asked for us.
It must mean that she didn’t want us.
A set of footsteps approached, and a group of boys came up to us. They always watched us suspiciously and refused to play with us. Then why were they here now?
“Hey, freaks,” one of the boys called. “Where’s your mommy?”
Another child laughed. “He doesn’t have one.”
“What about his daddy?”
More laughter followed. “They don’t have one of those either.”
“You better stop, or Kian will kill you,” Elira growled.
My fingers curled, nails digging into my palms.
“Your parents didn’t want you,” another boy said. “Because you two are freaks.”
Elira winced. She didn’t care to learn more about our parents, but those words hurt her.
My heart started beating faster and red filled my vision.
Another round of laughter broke through the schoolyard and I shot to my feet, my ears buzzing. One minute I was next to my sister, and the next, I was smashing my hand into all of them. The noise was growing with each punch I took.
Then I heard Elira.
“Jetmir, stop it.”
I didn’t. I kept punching the boy, red in my vision. Or maybe it was his bloody nose. I kept punching him, again and again. Just like I saw Kian punishing his enemies. These boys were my enemy.
I took another swing when suddenly I was in the air. I kicked and screamed.
“I’m going to kick your ass,” I yelled. “Regret you were ever born.”
Those were the same words I heard Kian say when he made his enemies pay. I would make these boys pay.
“Jetmir, what’s happening here?”
Kian’s words came from somewhere and I stilled. I looked around and only now noticed it was he who pulled me off the boy, holding me by the collar of my shirt.
My sister stood a few feet away, her eyes darting between me, the bloodied boy, and Kian. She was terrified of what I’d done.
“I asked you a question,” Kian said.
I was so angry, I couldn’t find words in any language I’d learn to answer. It was my sister who came to my rescue.
“They were mocking us.”
Kian looked at Elira, then me, ignoring the boys. “About what, Jetmir?”
I clenched my teeth together, refusing to say a word while tears burned in my eyes.
Elira opened her mouth. “About—”
“I asked your brother,” Kian cut her off. I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no words came out. “Tell me, Jetmir.”
“They called us freaks,” I hissed, my voice trembling. “And said our parents didn’t want us.”
He put me down, my feet finally touching the ground. “You know that’s not true.”
Did I really? Because all I knew was that I had a mother somewhere who wasn’t searching for us. Didn’t that mean she didn’t want us?
Elira ran toward me and hugged me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, Kian standing over us like a looming cloud. Or maybe a protective one. I didn’t know. He was good to us. He cared for us. But he wasn’t ours. He made that clear. One day, he said, we would meet our mother.
“Okay, we’ll discuss this later,” Kian said in a gentle tone. “Let’s go home.”
That evening, Kian told us a story. It wasn’t a bedtime story, but a tale that changed me forever.
It was then that I vowed to myself I’d never want or need anyone. Except I failed at that promise. I needed my wife. I loved her. And God knew I wanted her more than anything.
My phone rang and I reached for it without checking the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Finally, you dignify me with answering my call.” It was Kian. Fuck, of all the people, he was the last person I wanted to talk to right now.
“I’ve been busy.”
He scoffed. “So I hear.”
“What do you want, Kian?” He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch. Kian never screamed and yelled, letting unspoken words dominate a conversation. “My wife stays with me,” I finally said.
“So I figured.”
“You’re not going to try to persuade me to let her go?”
He chuckled. “I’ve known you since you were born, Jetmir. Nothing I say will persuade you to do anything you don’t want to and we both know nothing in this world, but your death, will separate you from your wife.”
“Exactly.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “You know her father would be more than happy to oblige.”
“He’ll have to find us first.”
“Sooner or later, he will,” Kian deadpanned.
“Well, he hasn’t yet and neither has the Triad.”
“Yeah, and they’re definitely on the move.”
“Why don’t we just fucking kill them all? Especially the bastard that’s running it.”
“If it was that easy, we would have,” Kian retorted dryly. “Ever since they set off that explosion, we’ve been hitting their organization. The problem is they’re like damn Lernaean Hydra. You cut one head and two more sprouts.”
“I won’t let them get to Anya,” I said. “She’s mine to protect. From the Triad and from her family.”
“She doesn’t need protection from her family, Jetmir. You do.”
I scoffed. “We’ll agree to disagree.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re madly in love with this girl.” He had no fuckin idea. “So what’s your plan? Move locations every few weeks?”
“That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Jetmir, be serious. Anya is close with her family. You won’t win any points by keeping her prisoner. Didn’t you learn anything the first time?”
“I won’t have her leave me,” I shouted, then froze. I couldn’t believe those words really left my lips.
My shoulders slumped, and suddenly, I felt lost and tired. Or maybe, I was back to being that six-year-old boy.
“I kept you and Elira with me until it was safe to take you to Liana,” Kian said slowly, his tone cautious. “But I’m starting to wonder, son, if perhaps I made a mistake.”
That was the problem though. Kian didn’t make mistakes.
“Jetmir, I know your first years without a mother left a mark on you. My lifestyle left a mark. Thinking back, I should have found a loving family to keep you and Elira, but I was convinced there was no safer place on this earth than to keep you with me.”
“You did your best,” I murmured.
“Maybe but I shouldn’t have told you the truth about your father. At least not when you were so young.”
“I don’t think there is a good time or age to learn that your biological father was a rapist, torturer of women, a sadistic bastard who wanted to kill your mother and you as a baby.”
“I wanted to be honest with you and Elira. I needed you to both know that there were important empires waiting for you.” A heavy exhale came through the line. “I raised you both as my own and often struggled with my own desire to simply be your father.”
“Why didn’t you just tell us you’re our father? It would have been so much easier.”
And Elira and I wouldn’t have felt like some orphans waiting for our family.
“I think partly because I wouldn’t have done the right thing when the time came to give you back to your mother. I would have kept you as my own and left her thinking she lost her babies.”
My heart clenched.
“You… you would have loved us like your own children?” I hated that my voice shook.
“Jetmir, I did love you, and still do, like you’re my own. Why do you think that I don’t?”
My biological father wanted to kill me before I’d even drawn a first breath. My own mother couldn’t feel that her own flesh and blood roamed this earth. It must have meant I wasn’t worthy of being loved.
“Jetmir?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, son,” Kian said slowly. “You’ve always made me proud. I’m here to tell you that you’re worthy of your wife and her love, however, you’re going to lose her if you hold on too tight.”
Something tightened in my throat and pierced me in the fucking chest.
It was the first time he uttered those words to me. Not even my own mother had said them, although deep down, I knew—or hoped—that she did.
I inhaled deeply, then said, “I have to go, Kian. Thank you for the talk.”
I hung up before he could say anything else, and continued to sit on the edge of my bed, my elbows on my knees and a steady burn radiating in my chest.
Three years ago, my wife left me, and the worst part was, I was to blame. No matter what my bloodline, who was after us, it was ultimately my actions that led to our destruction.
Now, I had to make it all right somehow.