I see her lie in her eyes before I hear it. Her bloomed cheeks and seductive scent give away her secret, much less the fact I’m tackling the same reactions from my body. I only released her because it was either let her go or act on the inane thoughts rolling through my head. I went with what I thought she wanted, although now I’m not so confident of my assessment.
Annoyed by my thoughts, I growl, “Don’t lie to me, Zariah. Lying is as punishable as being disobedient.” I hate what this woman is doing to me. She’s making me weak.
Zariah’s eyes snap to mine, the fury in them unmissable. “Disobedient? You’re going to punish me for being disobedient after pinning me to the bed, screaming at me for not standing up for myself, and when I try to do precisely that, you threaten me. You’re a hypocrite, Asher Yury.”
Every word she speaks is true, but I can’t leash my retaliation. I’m a stubborn fucking bastard. “I didn’t threaten you. I threatened the person you’re covering for.”
She whips around so fast, her hair slaps my chest. “It’s the same thing!”
The strength of her words shocks me. She has her arms wrapped around her midsection, like she’s seconds from collapsing, but her words are stern and to the point, making me wonder if there is more behind her bleak, dull eyes than she’s letting on. They’re sparking with the fire I wanted them to exude earlier. She’s grappling for a sense of normality, fighting to wake herself from the nightmare she finds herself in. She’s reminding me of the girl I once admired.
When she charges into her room, I’m the one left grappling. “Where are you going?”
“Home! I’m sick of fighting. I’m sick of this stupid life. I’d rather be dead.”
I grab the suitcase she pulled down from the closet and throw it across the room. It smacks into the lit candle in the corner, plunging her room into horrifying blackness. It has nothing on the darkness swamping me, though. I don’t like having her here, but there’s a comfort I get knowing she is here, with me, untouched.
After crowding her against the wall, I grip her face as I did earlier and silently command her eyes to mine. When I get them, I growl, “Don’t ever say shit like that to me. Do you understand me? You are toneversay shit like that to me.”
Surprise crosses her features. “Why, Asher? It’s not like you care. You didn’t give a shit when a member of your crew rough-handled me, so why act like you care now?”
Her eyes flash with an unexpected gleam when I roar, “Because you’remine! And no one who is mine says shit like that!”
“I’m not a possession, you bastard! I’m a person with feelings, and emotions, and a whole heap of fucked-up shit a man like you would never understand.” My chest burns when she bangs her fists on it, sending more tears toppling down her ashen cheeks. “Why are you doing this to me? Why bring me here? What did I ever do to you that you feel the need to torment me so cruelly?”
My words are razor-sharp when I spit out, “You took away the woman I loved!”
Blobs of moisture roll down her cheeks unchecked when she shakes her head. “No. I loved Dominique like a sister. I never wanted her to get hurt.”
I can see the truth in her eyes, hear it in her sorrowful tone, but I can’t believe it. I’m too stubborn to believe anything not corroborated by facts. Furthermore, I also wasn’t referring to Dominique.
“Tell me everything you know, Zariah? The truth. Then I may go lenient on those involved.”
By lenient, I mean I won’t torture them. I’ll grant them quick, clean deaths.
“I don’t know anything—”
My grip on her cheeks turns her words into whimpers. A voice in my head is screaming at me to let her go, but I refuse to listen to reason. A rage is brewing in my gut, more violent and callous than any I’ve ever handled. It’s even more confusing since I can’t understand why it’s telling me not to focus all my anger on Zariah. It wants my anger locked on the hazy memories in my head. On times bygone. To a man I once was and will most likely never be again.
I shake my thoughts from my head before putting my game face on. “Stop lying and tell the truth, Zariah. Be half the woman your mother hoped you’d become, instead of the spineless, weak whore you are.”
She spits in my face, the fear in her eyes incapable of holding back her retaliation. I draw her forward by clutching her shirt. I have no clue what I intend to do once she is in front of me. Half of me wants to strangle the truth from her, whereas the other half wants to kiss the living shit out of her.
Before I can do either of those things, a crackling voice saves me making a mistake I swore I’d never make. “Shh, Little Mouse, you’re okay. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
With my heart in my throat, I crank my head to the noise. My mother is standing at the entrance of Zariah’s room. She has an old video recorder in her hand, and her eyes are brimming with unshed tears.
They glide down her cheeks when she spins the recorder around to face me. The image on the black screen is grainy, but there’s no mistaking the two people in the frame. It’s Zariah and me. From the lack of shadow on my jaw, I’d guess I’m around fourteen or fifteen. Zariah is a couple years younger than me. She’s snuggled into my chest and wearing the dress she wore at her mom’s funeral.
After taking in the brutal clutch I have on Zariah’s shirt, my mom rewinds the tape. “Shh, Little Mouse, you’re okay. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
She rewinds it again.
And again.
And again, only ceasing when I scream, “Stop it!”
I release Zariah from my grip when my mother replies, “I’ll stop when you do. I didn’t defend you all these years for you to prove them right. You’re not your father, Asher, so stop acting like it!”
