Chapter 24 #2
“Tsk, tsk, so the cat is finally out the bag…”
My fingers curl in my fist, his eyes fall to the movement, as if watching every single flinch.
“How long?” I ask, brow curled
He leans against the counter directly opposite, unbothered. “The whole time, Young Love….” that nickname crawls over my skin.
“You knew who I was when we married, yet you did it anyway?” It's almost too good to be true. Why would he go along for the ride?
“Mmm… all the questions, but none of them the ones that are important.”
“You killed my father,” I say, deadpan. “And then held me for two years.”
His smile widens, flashing all his teeth. “Yes, Ivanya, I did. I don't care, and you may not find out why today, but you will eventually.”
He starts playing with his zipper, stroking himself through his jeans. Tears fall down my cheeks. “The first thing I’m going to do is take something from you that you’ll never be able to give to anyone else. It will always belong to me.”
I step backward.
“Remember your father, Ivanya,” he coos, countering my step. “You wouldn’t want him to hurt.”
Plucking a cigar from his jacket pocket, he drags it beneath his nostrils before biting it into his mouth. “You know, I admire you, Ivanya, but more than that, I pity you—”his face slips for a moment, all smugness gone.
It's the perfect time for my hands to find the knife strapped at my thigh. I launch it right into his main artery. His eyes pop open as blood spits spills over his suit and onto the expensive floors. He fumbles backward breaking the airy silence with his desperate attempt at breathing, his hands flinging to his neck as if that’ll stop the flow. As if he could put it all back in.
It's perfect. Gives him seconds, maybe up to a minute to know death is on his door.
He begins trembling to the floor, laughter spilling between his gargling.
I bend down, fingers wrapping around the knife and tilt my head at him. “It takes a monster to kill a monster.”
His laughter turns to a sneer, as his eyes shift over my shoulder behind me. Death. I figure.
A moment of hesitation, as if he wants to have one last say.
“Good luck—” his head hits the ground, silence all around us.
His fingers twitch once, twice, then still.
I stay for a moment, inhaling the scene. Years. I worked years to get to this point, to be the final thing he sees before the gates of hell.
Blood creeps toward my Valentino's, as I yank the knife from his neck, cleaning it on his suit before standing to my full height.
“Ivy.” His words hit the nape of my neck, right behind me. For how long?
Everything stops. It’s not a question. There’s no panic. Asher’s tone is far too calm for someone who just witnessed his friend be murdered by the woman he’s been fucking.
I don't turn. Can't. The reflection in the window shows Asher's silhouette filling the doorway, backlit by the hallway's dim glow.
“Don't.” The word scrapes out of my throat.
“Don't what?” His footsteps echo across tile. Different to Parker’s. Asher’s are measured and deliberate. “Pretend I didn't just watch you kill your husband?”
My pulse hammers against my ribs. “You should leave.”
“Should I?” He's closer now. Close enough that his breath ghosts across my bare shoulder. “That what you want, Venom?”
Is it?
“Yes.” No.
He rests his hand over my lower belly, pulling me flush against his chest. It’s terrifying how much power this man has over me. A simple touch steadies me.
“Breathe.” His voice vibrates over my spine, low and controlled. Not shocked. Not horrified. Just… there.
I can't.
Air won't come. My lungs refuse to expand. Parker's blood continues its slow crawl across marble, and all I can focus on is the weight of Asher's hand, the solid wall of his body behind mine.
“Ivy.” His lips brush my ear. “Breathe.”
My lungs open on command, sucking in oxygen.
He kisses my neck. “Good girl.”
His praise shouldn't affect me. Not now. Not with a corpse cooling ten feet away. But I know. I know that if he dragged his hand further down, he’d feel just how wet I was. How wet he makes me even during times where I shouldn’t be.
His other hand slides down my arm, fingers closing around my wrist. He brings my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my pulse.
“What’s next, hmm?” Still that same calm tone. Like we're discussing dinner plans instead of murder. What is with him? Did I have this all wrong? Why isn’t he freaking the fuck out?
I swallow. “Does it matter?”
“No.” His thumb traces circles on my stomach. “But I'm curious.”
I watch our reflection in the window. His body dominates mine, all dark suit and controlled power. My white dress still clean because not a single drop of Parker's blood touched me.
Professional.
Clean.
“I—”His other hand releases my wrist, sliding up to cup my throat.
“Are you done?” There's something in his tone that I can't place. A question I can’t read.
My fingers prickle, blood turning hot as everything I trained for begins to dissolve. “Asher, you need to leave.”
I don’t even recognize my own voice. Distant. Detached.
“Mm.” His thumb strokes along my jugular. “Nah…”
What the fuck is he doing? And why can't I move, frozen in place, afraid that if I do…
“Asher…”
“Ivy…” He mocks, unbothered.
I close my eyes, controlling my breathing.
“Leave!” The words scrape out. “Before—”
He spins me around, both hands framing my face now. Those eyes bore into mine, searching. Intense. “Why?”
My hands find his chest. I’m meant to push him away, but my fingers curl into his shirt.
Weak.
So fucking weak.
“This isn't—” I start, my head shaking. Nothing makes sense and everything does at the same time.
“Isn't what? Convenient? Clean?” His laugh is dark. Bitter. “Nothing about us has ever been clean, Ivy.” Why is he saying these things? Where is the Asher I know?
His forehead presses against mine. “You didn't answer my question. Are you done?”
I should walk. Every rational part of my brain screams at me to send him away. Protect him from what comes next.
From what I am.
But my phone vibrates on the counter, and I reach for it, swiping the new text.
“Ivy,” his voice is strained, as if the fact that I just picked up my phone was the first hint that I’d disappointed him.
Don't forget to clean house after playing in it. What will you do, My mariee… prove to everyone that you're loyal to me. Not to him. Not to love. To me…
I don’t reply, my phone feeling heavier in my hand as each second passes. Of course I’m fucking loyal to him.
Asher's hands slide down my neck, over my shoulders, down to my waist. He pulls me flush against him, and I feel every hard line of his body.
“I have to—” I try to pull away, but Asher's grip tightens.
Something that resembles pain flashes across his features, but before I can catch it, it disappears, and he backs me against the counter, caging me in. “Damn. I really thought…”
My heart slams against my ribs.
The world tilts to the side.
He brushes my hair back, before using it as a grip. “You're mine, Venom. None of this will change that.”
The claim should terrify me. Instead, it ignites something feral in my chest.
“I don't belong to anyone.” Even as I say it, my body betrays me. Arches into his touch.
“Liar.” His mouth hovers over mine. “And you fucking know it.”
His lips crash into mine, swallowing whatever protest I was forming. The kiss is possessive. Consuming. It tastes like a future that’s mapped out for me without me even realizing it.
Mariee de la Mort doesn't get happy endings. She doesn't get this… whatever it is.
Asher breaks the kiss, fingers gliding along my collarbone. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.
His hand stills. Those blue eyes lock onto mine, searching for something I can't give him. Something I don't have left to offer.
My chest constricts, each breath harder than the last. Prove you’re loyal to me.
Please don't. Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't make me choose between what I am and what I want.
My heart squeezes so tight I think it might shatter. Oh my fucking God why is this so damn hard.
My hands move over his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath my palms. Up to his neck where that rope of leaves wind behind his ear. His hair is darker tonight, wet from the snow outside. Too pretty to be mine. Too good for what I am.
“We need to say goodbye,” I whisper, rising onto my toes. His lips hover inches from mine, close enough that I can taste him. “Please forgive me.”
Asher Jameson came with a fiancée.
He'll leave in a body bag.
His eyes widen. Understanding flashes across his face. There's something there, disappointment, maybe…
“Venom, wait—”
But I'm already pulling the trigger.
The gunshot cracks through the air, the kickback slamming into my chest as my finger trembles against the trigger.
Except.
Except Asher's hand shoots up, catching my wrist. The bullet tears through the wall behind him, sending plaster raining down like snow.
“What the fuck,” he growls, yanking the pistol from my grip. It clatters across the tiles, skidding through Parker's blood. “Yeah? Really?”
My eyes burn. A single tear rolls down my cheek, hot and foreign.
I haven't cried since I was twelve.
Since the night everything changed.
Asher's grip on my wrist tightens, bruising. His other hand fists in my hair, forcing my head back. “You were really gonna fucking shoot me, Venom?”
Not a question. An accusation.
“Yes.” I'm exactly as he calls me. Venom. Spiteful. Poisonous. Put on this earth to kill.
Pain flickers over his eyes. Betrayal. “Why?”
Because you lied.
Because you're friends with Parker.
Because I can't let myself love you.
Because love is weakness and weakness gets you killed.
“Does it matter?” I ask instead, forcing myself to not focus on how my heart feels like it’s being torn from my chest.
His jaw clenches. “It matters to me.”
I meet his stare. “It shouldn't.”
“Too fucking late for that.” He releases my hair but doesn't let go of my wrist.
The room tilts.
“Asher…” I whisper, squeezing my fingers into my palm.
“Shut up.” He yanks me into his chest, lips crashing against mine. Silly Asher. He should have checked my other hand.
The second pistol fires, muffled against his chest. It’s the sound of finality. Of being too fucked up for love.
Asher stumbles back, hand going to the wound. Blood flowers across his shirt.
His eyes meet mine.
Not shock.
Not betrayal.
Just… hatred.
“Fucking knew it,” He breathes, falling.
I catch him before he hits the floor, cradling his head in my lap. His blood soaks into my white dress, warm and sticky. Worthy.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper, brushing hair from his forehead. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
Why the fuck am I crying.
Mariee de la Mort doesn't apologize.
She doesn't cry.
She doesn't fall in love with blue-eyed snowboarders who look at her like she's not damaged and still worth living for.
Asher's breathing slows, his eyes fluttering closed.
And I sit there, in a pool of blood that belongs to two men, holding the only person who ever made me feel human.
My phone vibrates. This time I don't look. I don't care. I don't want to.
I need to stay right here. Under Asher.
His features smooth out as he takes his final breath. I’d see him again. In another lifetime, when I wasn’t as fucked up as the evil I kill.
Happily ever after was never for me.