by Eva Ashwood
I smile at him, even as something twists in my chest.
I wish it could be like that for me too.
There’s a gaping hole in my heart that’s been there for years, and over the past few weeks, it’s been feeling more and more empty. I crave the same sense of family that Zaid and Lucas found here with Hale and Ciro.
But is that even possible?
Could there truly be a place for me in this world? A place where I’m not a captive, but something more?
12
Ciro
The basement is cool and quiet.
Calm.
Everything is arranged the way it always is, but I still check over the rows of guns, weapons, and various torture mechanisms to make sure it’s all in place. Every item accessible for the next time I need it. I usually come down here once a week to clean and make sure everything’s organized, but this is the third night in a row I’ve slipped downstairs into what Zaid once jokingly called my lair.
The routine of maintaining my equipment is muscle memory now, and I’m only half conscious as I look over the items, lost in my thoughts.
Grace.
I haven’t been able to let her go, haven’t been able to shut her out or forget what happened between us.
After years of closing myself off and pushing things aside, this should be simple, but it’s not. It’s haunting me. It’s like I’m torturing myself down here, not some enemy soldier. I keep forcing myself to relive the entirety of that night over and over again—not just the good part, but the fucking awful part. I can never forget the consequences of my actions. The consequences of letting go.
I look down at my hands, scarred and rough, imagining them wrapped around her throat, choking the life out of her. I could have killed her. I almost killed her. If Hale hadn’t come in when he did, if he hadn’t heard Grace’s strangled cry by pure fucking luck…
Hale knows to shoot me if it happens again.
Not that it ever will happen again, because I’m never going to put myself and Grace in a situation where it could happen again. But to know there’s a contingency plan lined up eases a little of the guilt in me, makes me feel better about being around her. I tried to avoid her for a few days, because every time I looked at the bruises on her neck, I thought about coming down here and eating a bullet.
But I don’t want to let my demons win like that.
I won’t abandon Hale or the others.
I’ll have to face Grace eventually. I know I can’t avoid her for the rest of her stay here.
I’ve already forgotten the dream, the night terror. I forgot it the moment Hale dragged me back to consciousness. I’ll never know what scared me so fucking much that I did what I did, but I do know the way it felt to realize what I had done. To have no memory of why, to feel like there was a monster living inside me, possessing me to do that. I know what it feels like to not feel like your body is your own, and I hate it.
I hate it so fucking much.
Grabbing one of the guns on the table, I pick it up and fire three shots into the bare cement wall.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
They all hit in the exact same spot, my aim perfectly accurate. That’s what I’m good at. I’m good at breaking shit. At wrecking shit.
I can kill.
I can torture brutally and efficiently.
But I was kidding myself if I thought I could touch something beautiful without breaking it.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I pick up the next gun, a smaller one, and repeat the action, tilting my head to the side slightly as I focus on the shot.
Crack.
Her face haunts me.
Crack.
The way her eyes shone with tears when she said she trusted me, as if she meant it.
Crack.
I know she meant it. The way she said it, there was nothing but truth in her eyes, nothing but blind trust and forgiveness.
Crack.
I want it. Fuck, I want it so much. I want to be worthy of her trust, deserving of her belief in me. She’s offered it to me freely, but I’ll never take it until I know for certain that she’s giving it to someone who deserves it.
Crack.
And I don’t deserve it, not now. Maybe not ever.
I throw the gun back on the table, scattering tools, guns, knives, and weapons with a crash, messing up the perfect order and methodical arrangements, not giving a fuck. The thoughts are overwhelming, crawling through my head like living things.
I want you, Grace. I want to fuck you. I want to… to have you.
It almost felt like I could have her for a second, as I watched Hale fuck her like I wanted to. I wanted Hale’s hands on her body to be my own. I wanted her to make those sweet little noises for me, not him.
My cock twitches just thinking about it, frustration burning through me. My whole body has been more… alive and alert since it happened, like nerve-endings I thought were dead have suddenly switched back on. My need for her feels like a palpable thing now, not just an idea of desire.
It’s been years since I’ve jerked off, not since before I was captured—even my own touch was unwelcome, triggering—but now just thinking about her makes me want to wrap my hands around my dick and try to find that same momentary satisfaction I experienced watching her and Hale.
My cock pulses again, and I rub the heel of my hand over it through my pants, half giving in to the need for relief and half trying to banish the growing erection. I give myself a second to bury my hungry thoughts of Grace before standing up and collecting myself. Dragging in a few deep breaths, I work on clearing my head and fixing the mess of weapons I made, returning everything back to where it belongs.
Everything in its place.
Just like me.
I do better when I keep myself under control. When I remember not to hope for things I don’t have any right to want.
The door clicks open, the quiet sound snapping me out of my thoughts.
My head whips up, my fingers already wrapping around the gun in front of me, my entire body instantly alert. I relax when I see that it’s Zaid, and he doesn’t even flinch when he sees my hand on my weapon. He trusts me.
Why does everyone around me trust me so much? Don’t they know they shouldn’t?
“Dinner’s ready,” he says, then grins at me. “Grace helped make it.”
With that pronouncement, he leaves, closing the door again behind him.
He knows I don’t like to be disturbed while I’m down here. I like to keep this room firmly “other.” A place for cleaning weapons, maintaining my tools, and methodically inflicting pain. The less often other people step inside this room, the easier it is to leave what happens down here buried in the basement where it belongs.
Focusing back on the table, I make quick work of inventorying everything, absently finishing before stepping outside and locking up the room behind me. Sliding the only key to that room into my pocket, I make my way up the long flight of stairs to the ground floor, then head toward the dining room.
I pause in the hallway at the sound of Grace’s laughter—it’s light and airy, a sound I haven’t heard in years. The tension in my shoulders melts a little at the comforting sound. Fuck, I need to hear it again and again. I need to feel it against my skin, need to absorb it into my soul.
Zaid and Lucas interject with something teasing, earning another laugh, and something in my chest twists at the sound of their easy banter. It’s times like these that I don’t want to bring my darkness into the room, to tear down everyone’s light with my demons. It’s times like these when I want nothing more than to be fucking normal again.
All eyes look up as I enter the dining room, but the only person I look at is Grace, unable to keep my gaze away from her.
My heart gives the faintest stutter, my pulse leaping to my throat.
There are still bruises on her neck, although they’re not as dark as they used to be. But even though the evidence of my weakness and violence still sits on her skin,
Grace’s gaze isn’t filled with loathing or fear. It doesn’t have a trace of pity or anger, just softness. A kind of softness that only she possesses, one that infuses every part of her.
Her voice, her skin, her scent.
“Here,” she says gently, gesturing to the seat next to her. “Sit here.”
I hesitate, my muscles going rigid.
It’s too dangerous, I might hurt her.
But Zaid and Lucas both look at me with a glance that says, you’ll hurt her if you don’t sit there.
Muttering a thank you, I move to sit next to her, aware of the heat radiating off her skin. I think she smiles at me, but I can’t quite see it because I won’t let myself turn to look at her. Her arm brushes against mine when she grabs a plate from Hale, and my traitorous cock stiffens again.
“As it turns out.” Lucas casts a teasing grin in her direction as he serves up the food. “Grace is not the best at cooking. But we managed just fine.”
She gives a gasp of mock offense. “We already discussed this. I never learned how to cook because my mother never taught me to cook. She was breaking the traditional gender roles society wanted to push me into.”
It’s a stretch, knowing Camilla Weston, but Grace is only joking. From everything I know about her, Camilla was one of the most traditional mafia wives in the syndicate. She was quiet and calculating, maintaining her house and supporting her husband in anything he did. Samuel adored her, despite the fact that she never gave him a son.
Zaid chuckles, opening his mouth to say something, but a noise from the front of the house stops him.
It’s not loud, but there’s something about the sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It sounds almost like a cry, like a weak scream.
“What the hell was that?” Lucas mutters.
Before the words are even out of his mouth, Hale and I are on our feet. Zaid and Lucas are up a second later, reaching for their weapons.
Acting as a unit, we fall into trained positions, guarding each other’s backs and sweeping the house, looking for the source. Security wasn’t triggered, which means the intruder isn’t hiding in the house, though they may think they’re clever by waiting at one of the doors for a surprise attack.
Staying silent and alert, Zaid cocks his head to the front door as we move into the foyer, keeping our guns aimed at the heavy wood.
Splitting up, the four of us position ourselves on either side of the door before Hale unlocks it and flings it open. I step to one side, my weapon raised as I scan for threats, but there’s no one standing in front of the door.
Then my gaze moves downward, and I realize exactly where the noise came from.
“Shit!” As Zaid moves to step out of the door, Lucas throws a hand out to stop his brother. “Look at that.”
I mutter a string of curses under my breath as we all take in the slaughtered dog on our front step, mutilated and bleeding out. It’s a fresh kill, and the sound we must have heard was its last cry for life.
But that’s not the worst of it.
As Zaid nudges the dead animal with his foot, already hunting for clues, the tag on its collar glints in the fading late evening sunlight. The name on the tag sends a chill down my spine.
Grace.
13
Grace
The sound that cut Lucas off sent a jolt of fear straight through me. It was the sound of pain and fear laced with death.
It was almost scary how quickly the guys fell into warrior mode, snapping into their positions as if we weren’t all just joking around seconds ago. There were weapons in their hands before I even had a second to register that something was wrong. They stalked out of the dining room like trained soldiers, leaving me alone with five steaming plates of food.
My heart thunders in my chest as adrenaline spikes in my veins. Alone, I don’t know what to do. I feel a bit like I should grab a weapon myself and join them. Like I should have their backs.
Do something, Grace.
I hear them stalk through the house quietly, their feet turning in the direction of the front door and hesitating. As I rise from my chair, the door clicks open, and their murmured curses are lost in the shuffle of their feet.
I hesitate with my hand on the edge of the dining room table, straining my ears for any hint of what’s going on. When there are no sounds of gunshots or a fight, I take a few steps into the foyer.
The men are standing just inside the front door. Their alert postures have relaxed, but a new kind of tension seems to hang over them. Hale’s expression is dark, and Zaid and Lucas look like they could kill someone. Ciro’s back is to me, but even without seeing his face, I can tell he’s pissed.
I stride toward the door and slip between their large bodies, trying to see what’s going on.
“What’s going on? What do…”
The words die on my lips as I get a glimpse of what lies on the front stoop. Lucas immediately tries to hold me back, the guys blocking the scene with their bodies, but it’s too late.
“Oh, my God.”
The image of the mauled dog will forever be seared into my mind, its head and body bashed and bloody. Sprawled out on the front step, it’s a brutal, heartbreaking sight. I can almost imagine that it’s still breathing, labored and painful, but I know it’s dead. There’s no doubt that the sound we heard came from this animal’s last cry for help, freshly killed and mutilated.
My hand comes to my mouth, trying to force back the bile that’s rising in my throat, but Lucas wraps his arms tightly around me and pushes us back into the foyer, the other men blocking the sight and quickly shutting the door behind them.
My whole body shakes and blood rushes to my ears, blocking out the words of the men surrounding me.
That was one of the most horrifying things I’ve ever seen, second only to that day at the church when my wedding was ambushed.
And this is nothing compared to what it could have been.
I was raised in the mafia. My father shielded me from the more disturbing aspects of his work, but I know that mafia life can be brutal and cruel. You step on the wrong person’s toes, and something worse than this could happen—that dog could have been replaced with a person, someone we know, a loved one.
And it was meant to send a message.
“Who the fuck decided it was a good idea to leave her alone?” Hale’s voice interrupts my thoughts and I look up to see him give Lucas and Zaid a sharp look. “What if it had been an intruder? You left her alone, unprotected.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter hoarsely, but no one is listening.
“It could have been Grace and not that dog because of your stupid—”
“I’m fine, okay?” I raise my voice a little, shaking. “Hale, I’m fine.”
At the sound of his name, he finally looks at me, eyes flashing. There’s nothing but protective rage in his dark blue eyes, fury toward whoever just dumped a dead animal on the doorstep. But they soften a little when he looks at me, and I watch him scan my body as if reassuring himself that despite the gruesome scene outside, I’m still here and in one piece.
When he realizes that I’m fine, he breaks away from the group with a curse, pacing up and down the length of the hallway.
“Are you okay?” Lucas asks softly, looking at me. Guilt twists his features.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I hate that I’m as shaken as I am, but Jesus fuck. That image is burned into my retinas. “Really, I’m okay.”
Now that the initial shock has passed, I’m more worried about the stormy look on Hale’s face as he tries to master his rage, pacing up and down the length of the foyer. He practically has smoke coming out of his ears, his body laced with vicious and barely contained fury.
He stops, taking his phone out of his pocket and tapping at the screen. He puts it to his ear, and there’s a murmur on the other end as someone answers.
“There’s been a development.” Hale swallows, fingers twitching in agitation at his side. He’s pissed, and he looks like he
wants nothing more than to tear down the whole city with his bare hands. “With Grace.”
“How does this have anything to do with me?” I whisper, shooting a glance at the other men. My heart thunders in my chest, fear slowly gripping me and spreading through my body at Hale’s words.
Zaid, Lucas, and Ciro exchange a grimace, and I almost think they’re going to refuse to tell me. That despite the fact that Hale said they had nothing to hide from me, the lies and secrets are going to start back up again. But before I can open my mouth and demand they tell me, Zaid speaks up.
“The dog…” He looks back at the door, cringing as if it pains him to speak the words he has to say. “That fucking dog. Its collar had your name on it. It wasn’t a threat to us; it was a threat to you.”
My stomach drops out. “What?”
There are so many more questions I want to ask, but I can’t force any of them out. The words die on my lips as nausea roils my stomach. My knees wobble, and Ciro reaches out to stop me from falling. His grip is reassuring, although he releases me as soon as he can tell I’m not going to keel over.
I miss his touch immediately. I need it like I need a fucking anchor, something to keep me steady in this storm.
How the fuck did I let myself get involved with this?
This is all so much bigger than I thought. It started with my kidnapping, but it’s gone so far beyond that now that my mind struggles to keep up.
It’s no longer about my dad and what he was or wasn’t doing in his past, what he was involved with before he died. It’s now about me, and what scares me more than anything is that I don’t know what the fuck I’ve done to provoke it.
Hale hangs up the phone, still barely contained, but more calm. He looks at each of us, his gaze lingering on me.
“We’re going to meet with my father. Now.”
14
Hale
I’ve never been so fucking mad.
