Chapter 20
ASHER
Maeve really should be more selective of who she allows into her house. Especially, who she allows in her bed.
I’ve watched her sleep plenty of times, but something about the fact she invited me—invited Caleb—into her sanctuary, is another level of intimacy. It takes trust to invite someone into your bed. Vulnerability. Two things I should despise. Instead, I want them.
From her.
I want her to know my story. To look at me and not flinch. Like the way she looks at Caleb. Like he’s not broken.
Then, she’ll understand all those deaths were necessary.
Even though, deep down, she already knows this.
I shift closer to her, the mattress dipping slightly. Moonlight filters in under the half-drawn blinds, casting a soft glow on her face. She really is breathtaking. Not just in the way her hair spills over the pillow. Or the rise and fall of her chest.
It’s more than that. It’s the fire in her. The storm she barely contains. I’ve seen it, seen what happens when she lets her darkness control her.
Her hands shook, but her resolve didn’t waver when she drove that letter opener into McCosky’s neck.
She’s capable of so much more. I’ll show her. I’ll draw it out, make her realise what she can become.
Right now, though, she’s completely unaware Caleb is no longer in control. The transition is effortless, really. Like slipping into a well-worn coat. Or snapping someone’s fingers.
Her vulnerability reminds me of our first encounter. Only this time, I’m ready to let her see the monster up close.
The heat radiating from her body draws me in. My need to own her resembles something quite akin to love, does it not? I can protect her, destroy her and build her back up into a version of herself she never knew could exist. One stronger, less driven by emotion.
If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
I lean in, my breath ghosting over her ear. “Maeve,” I whisper. “Time to wake up.”
Her eyes dart side to side under her eyelids. A grin spreads over my lips. She’s dreaming. Of me, I hope. Or at least, the promise of me. Of us.
“Maeve,” I say again, brushing my knuckles over the soft, pale skin of her cheek.
Her quiet breathing and the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the living room vibrate the silence between us. Each second that passes heightens my anticipation, tension coiling within me like a snake ready to strike.
I let my gaze roam her body, lingering on the gentle curve of her hip beneath the thin sheet.
What would her flesh feel like against mine?
My fingers twitch with the need to explore, to claim, to mark her as mine. Just the phantom taste of her lips from Caleb’s perspective wasn’t enough. I barely contained myself.
A low growl escapes my throat, and my mouth waters. Her vanilla scent wraps around me, filling my lungs, my soul—if I have one—and beckons for me to rip her clothes from her body and destroy her for any other man.
Caleb included.
But that would be foolish. I’ll show my hand when the time is right.
Instead, I trace the air above the warmth of her breath and run the tip of my nose over the skin on her neck. I want to taste her fear, to drink in her screams when she finally realises the terror of my presence.
My patience is wearing thin. We have plenty to discuss.
“Maeve!” My voice shatters the silence like an explosion.
Her eyelids flutter open, and she blinks rapidly, a frown on her face. Her lips part, but her gaze remains clouded as she struggles to focus in the dim light. Each micro-expression that flits across her face brings her closer to the truth.
“There you are,” I say, shifting onto my side, and propping my head up with a hand.
“Caleb?” Her voice is thick with sleep. “Are you okay?”
I smile, and slowly, deliberately, shake my head. “Guess again,” I murmur. “I’ll give you a hint . . . Little Shadow.”
Realisation dawns slowly.
Maeve tenses beneath the sheets, her breath catching in her throat. “Asher,” she whispers, the name falling from her lips like a curse.
I don’t mind. It’s the first time she’s used it.
“Clever girl,” I say, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
A small, strangled sound escapes her lips, her eyes widening, her pupils dilating. I take in every detail, the way her throat works over a swallow, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the faint sheen of sweat blossoming on her forehead.
She shifts. Breathes faster. Her hand clutches the sheet like it’s a weapon. I don’t rush her. I want to watch every piece of her puzzle click into place.
But it’s not so much fear I’m witnessing. There’s something else. Intrigue, maybe.
Her dark eyes dart over my face, and she rears back, pulling the sheet up over her chest. It’s too late. I’ve already seen her. She can’t escape me now.
“Are you . . .” She swallows hard, the delicate flutter of her throat drawing my attention. “. . . here to kill me?”
“Kill you?” I tilt my head. “Now why would you assume I’d want to do something like that? Is Caleb telling little fibs now?”
Maeve straightens, pulling her shoulders back, her movements decisive. “He told me everything.”
“Indeed,” I say, my jaw tightening as I inspect my fingernails with feigned nonchalance. “It was a very touching conversation you shared earlier. I almost shed a tear.” Sarcasm drips from my tone.
It was pathetic, really. As much as I enjoy sifting through Caleb’s scattered thoughts, there are times I would prefer a little quiet from the chaos.
Maeve frowns, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. She releases it with a sigh. “He said you can hear us.”
I nod slowly, lips pressed together as I contemplate her words. “ Hear isn’t quite the right word,” I say, shifting my position until my back is pressed against the hard surface of the headboard. “We’re intertwined, inseparable, Caleb and me. You can’t have one without the other. Although, I’ve become quite adept at the art of eavesdropping, more so than my other half. He likes to . . . overlook his problems. Me included.”
“Do you blame him?” Maeve clutches the sheet, her delicate fingers trembling subtly against the soft, dark fabric. I’ve witnessed the power those hands hold. She isn’t fooling anyone. “You murdered all those people, didn’t you?”
Is she truly asking me? How considerate.
“You know the answer to that, Maeve.” My words hang heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.
Silence falls between us, our eyes locked in a battle of wills. She’ll lose. She can’t hold out forever. It’s only a matter of time.
Finally, she releases a long, shaky breath, as if she’s been keeping her lungs hostage. Her shoulders slump ever so slightly, her stoic facade slipping away.
“So, what do you want?” she murmurs, her voice barely reaching my ears, a fragile thread in the silence.
“What I’ve always wanted,” I say, linking my hands behind my head. “What we’ve both been craving for so long.” I edge closer, and she flinches, her eyes darting over my face. “Revenge.”
The word lingers between us, heavy and slick with promise. Maeve narrows her eyes, a flicker of understanding cutting across her features like a shadow.
“Thornhaven Orphanage.” She swallows as though the very mention of it leaves a foul taste in her mouth. “You want to destroy them.”
My entire body tenses, my muscles coiling tight. “They thought they could break us, Maeve.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.
Memories of cold, sterile halls and whispered threats flash through my mind. I shove them away.
“They thought they could mould us into their perfect, obedient little puppets.” I clench my fists. “But they underestimated us. I’m no-one’s plaything. And soon enough the entire town will burn for their sins.”
Maeve’s gaze flicks to the window. To the closed door. Back again. I know that look—fight or flight. Neither will save her.
And here I thought we were getting along, forming an understanding.
I whip my hand out, gripping her face between my fingers, her soft flesh yielding to my touch. Her eyes snap to mine.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say, shaking my head. Her breath catches, and I lean closer. “We both know you won’t make it to the door. And right now isn’t the time to test my patience, Little Shadow. I’d love any excuse to put my hands on you. So don’t give me a reason to.”
A visible shiver ripples through her body, but she holds my gaze, lips parted as if words are on the verge of spilling out.
“Are you going to behave?” I say, my voice low, steady.
Maeve nods. Now, that’s more like it. I loosen my grip and run a thumb over her bottom lip. She doesn’t flinch, only sucks in a shaky breath, and leans in the slightest bit. She doesn’t even realise she’s doing it. It’s the darkness inside her.
That need, that shame wrapped in heat. It’s starting to win. She’s not afraid of me. Not really.
She’s afraid of what I bring out in her.
And I have the bite mark to prove it.
“Good. Now shall we discuss business?” I say with a smile that’s part charm, part challenge.
She knows she can’t resist this face. So why fight the inevitable?
“What makes you think I’d help you?” she says, each word laced with a defiant edge as she rubs at her cheeks. “I’m nothing like you.”
“Help me?” I laugh, the sound harsh in the stillness of her room. “No, Maeve, you’ll help yourself,” I say, leaning closer to her until our shadows combine against the wallpaper. “You’re after answers about Bethany, about the orphanage. All you need to do is embrace the truth. You and I, we’re not so different. You believe you killed McCosky out of desperation. No. You killed him because it felt good.”
She glances away, doubt flickering in her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles.
Good. She’s teetering on the edge, right where I want her.
I tilt my head. “You can deny it all you want, but I know the truth. And deep down, so do you.”
Maeve crosses her arms over her chest, exhaling like an arrogant child. “It was you who tied him up and left him for dead.”
My grin widens. “I may have tied him up, tortured him . . .” I brush my lips over the shell of her ear, and she gasps. “But you, Maeve . . . you killed him.”
Her face drains of colour. “You watched me.” It’s not a question.
“I did.” I narrow my eyes on her full lips. “You surprised me. And I’m not surprised by much. I saw everything, Maeve. The trembling in your hands as you gripped the letter opener. The look on your face when you plunged it into his neck. The way you watched the light fade from his eyes.”
It really was a sight to behold.
Maeve shakes her head, denial etched into every line of her face. “I didn’t mean to kill him,” she says, her eyes dropping to her lap. “I just wanted answers. Ones he couldn’t give me. I let my emotions control me.”
There’s that word. Emotions. Such fickle things. Unreliable.
She can deny it all she likes. Doesn’t change a thing. The truth is still there, lurking beneath her words, a dark current pulsing just below the surface.
“You enjoyed it,” I say, my voice a soft caress. “Admit it. You felt powerful, didn’t you? Finally able to make one of them pay for what they did to us.”
Her eyes meet mine, the chaos of her emotions swirling in their depths. Fear, anger, and beneath it all . . . a hint of satisfaction. She can’t hide from me.
Her shoulders relax infinitesimally, and the moment comes when she decides to stop pretending.
“Yes.” The word is barely more than a breath.
A single word that fractures the space between us.
Her chest heaves. Her eyes glisten. And there it is . . .
The moment she stops lying. Not to me. To herself.
She drops the sheet and throws her hands up. “Yes! Is that what you want to hear, Asher? I felt . . . alive. Those monsters took my best friend from me.”
Warmth floods my muscles. There she is. My little shadow.
“That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”
Maeve chews her full bottom lip, assessing me. “They never told me what happened to her,” she says, swiping at a tear carving its way down her soft, pink cheek. “When I confronted Dennis, everything bubbled up inside me—my rage, my hatred, all of it. I shouldn’t have stabbed him. But I did. Now I can’t take that back.”
My jaw tightens. There’ll be no second guessing when I’m finished with her.
I grab her upper arm, yanking her closer until our noses are inches apart. The warmth of her breath fans my face. “Yes, Maeve. Yes, you should have. He took everything. Remember that.”
More tears spill over. They have no effect on me. Not the intended effect, anyway. They only grow my obsession with her, my need to protect her from anyone else but me.
Now, Caleb, he’d be all over her like a viral rash, wanting to erase her pain, make everything all better.
Me? I want her to feel everything. It’ll only make breaking her even more satisfying.
Sniffing, she rears back. The distance between us grows. “So, what, you’re just going to keep killing until there’s no-one left?”
“They broke us,” I say, my fists clenching and unclenching in my lap. “Starved us, beat us, violated us in the worst ways possible. It’s the least I can do.”
“I get it.” She climbs from her bed, her erect nipples now evident through her faded shirt. “But whatever you want from me, I won’t help you. All I want to know is what happened to Bethany. I want no part in whatever . . . sick game you’re playing at.”
I groan, low enough that only I can hear it. This isn’t going the way I imagined it would. I could just threaten to kill her, put her out of her misery. If she’s dead, there’s no need to dig for answers regarding Bethany. She could be at peace.
Though, I doubt her life is worth that much to her.
“No?” I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly. “That’s a shame. Not even for those answers you so desperately need?”
Maeve’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open for a split second.
That did the trick.
“You’re blackmailing me?” She wraps her arms around her waist. “I suppose I should have known you’d stoop to such low levels.”
Is that supposed to be an insult?
I grin, climbing from the bed. “Oh, you have no idea of the lengths I’ll go to get what I want.” I step closer to her until her back is up against a wall. “People have underestimated me my entire existence, Maeve, and would you like to take one guess how that worked out for them?”
Her chest rises and falls in quick succession, her eyes locking on mine as I cage her in. There’s nowhere for her to run.
“You’re sick, you know. And what about Caleb? All this killing . . .” She shakes her head.
I grab a lock of her dark hair and inspect it as I rub it between my fingers. “What about him?”
She frowns. “Caleb is part of you. If you keep going, you’ll destroy him.”
“If I must.”
She really doesn’t get it, does she? I feel nothing for Caleb. Well . . . nothing except contempt and hatred. He gets her smiles. Her softness. But softness saved no-one. I don’t envy him. I pity him.
“Caleb is weak. Pathetic. He’s a means to an end. Without him, I’d be nothing more than a shadow, a whisper in the dark. That doesn’t mean I respect him. I tolerate him. But you, Maeve? You’re something else entirely. You’re not just useful. You’re . . . inevitable.”
She smacks my hand away and shoves me in the chest. Hard. “Don’t touch me.”
The urge to retaliate, to wrap my hands around her throat, surges inside me. I’ve ended lives for less.
I take a deep breath, forcing my anger into a tight box. “So, what’s it going to be, Little Shadow? You have five seconds to decide. Five. Four?—”
“Or what?” Her defiance is palpable.
She’s trying to hide from me, bury that darkness, that control she craves. But it won’t work.
A grin spreads across my face.
“Three. Two . . .”
“Fine.” The word slips from her pretty mouth, barely a whisper, her shoulders sagging. “What do you need me to do?”
I step back. “Nothing you haven’t already been doing,” I say, moving around her room. “Revenge is just the start.” I trace my index finger over the surface of her nightstand and inspect the dust that clings to my skin. “Thornhaven Orphanage is a symptom of something much bigger. Do you really think taking out the people who hurt us will bring peace?” I pause, letting the question linger in the air. “No, Maeve. Peace is a lie. But control?” My gaze meets hers. “That’s real. And when we’re done, the world will see exactly what we’re capable of.”
A small tremor races over her body, betraying the fear coursing through her veins.
Fear. It must be an odd feeling. Such a useless emotion. It only leads to self-destruction, which is why Caleb needs me. His fear will consume him if I allow it, and I can’t have that happening now, can I? With his unpredictable nature, I’m constantly on the lookout for the next stupid decision he’s going to make.
Maeve huffs, her lips thinning. “You want names.”
She’s reaching her limit.
Good. Now she’s getting a taste of mine.
“Names. Addresses. Family members,” I say, my voice steady but demanding.
Her eyebrows shoot up, her eyes widening. “Family members?”
I push my bottom lip out in mock sympathy. “You don’t think they deserve to be punished for the sins of their loved ones?”
“I won’t help you, Asher,” she says, shaking her head violently, her dark hair whipping around her face. “Not like that.”
I tilt my head back, and stare at the peeling paint on the ceiling. I’m a patient man, but Maeve is testing me.
“Fine,” I say. “No family members. Happy?”
“It’s more complicated, now.” She lifts a shoulder. “I have eyes on me. Pinnacle, my boss. It might take me longer to get all the names you need.”
“I’ll wait,” I say, moving in front of her once again. I run my gaze up her bare thighs, her chest. Over her face. “Impulsiveness isn’t something I indulge in, unlike yourself. And the next time you drive a letter opener into someone’s flesh, make sure you keep your stomach contents inside your stomach. Dennis’s body won’t be a problem for you.”
Maeve gasps, her hand flying to her neck. “You . . . you got rid of him?”
I lift a shoulder. “You’re a mess, Maeve. Your incompetence could have ruined everything. A thank you would be the polite thing to say.”
She scowls at me, irritation bleeding into her expression. “Are you just going to insult me all night, or are we done with this conversation?”
I step forward. She doesn’t retreat. Good girl.
A low growl rumbles in my chest, and I pin her before she can blink, pressing her against the wall, my hand around her throat, tight enough to remind her who I am.
“We’re done when I say we’re done, Maeve. Test me, and you’ll see what happens when I stop holding back.” My grip tightens, just enough to make her breath catch. “You think Caleb can save you? He can’t even save himself. But me? I could give you everything—power, control, revenge. The answers you need. You just need to stop pretending you’re something you’re not.”
Her lips part. Not a moan. Not yet. Just breathlessness, raw and involuntary. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t look away.
It’s then I feel it. A subtle shift. Not surrender. Not fear. Something else.
Conflict. Curiosity.
The kind of chaos that lives in people like us.
She shudders, and presses closer, barely perceptible. But it’s there. Instinct overrules fear. Her body will always tell the truth.
If I touched her now, would she be aching for me?
No, not yet. Not like this. Desire this dark needs patience.
As much as I’d love to bury myself so deep inside her, she’ll be feeling me there for days after, now is not the time.
Instead, I release my grip, and step back, shoving a hand through my hair.
Maeve holds her throat, her skin blotchy, her eyes narrowing as she gasps for air. “You’re insane,” she says, her voice raw, unfiltered. A tremor races over her, a sliver of emotion escaping despite her best attempts to keep it hidden. “You’re completely insane!”
I raise an eyebrow. Does she expect me to respond with some kind of remorse? I have none.
“Insane?” I echo, my voice smooth, unbothered, like a teacher correcting a confused student. “You’ve read my files. Was there any reference to insanity in those pages?” I let the words hang between us, giving her a moment to consider. “I think not. I’m as sane as you. I just don’t . . . feel the way you do.”
“Right,” she says, huffing out a bitter laugh. “Psychopath is the word they used.”
Does she think the same about herself?
A slow smirk creeps onto my lips. “Correct,” I say, my gaze meeting hers.
She’ll understand soon enough how serious I am. How dangerous I am.
“Now, if we’re done debating definitions, we can move on to something more productive. Like”—I let the little word slide off my tongue slowly, pressing each letter—“teaching you the art of gutting a man.”