She doesn’t blink in fear or cower back when I storm her way. She knows I’d never hurt her, so she has no cause for concern. Her tape, though, the recording that shows me as a weak, insolent boy who didn’t know the promises he was making, it won’t leave this room in one piece.
After yanking the video from my mother’s grasp, I throw it to the ground before stomping on it with my boot. It crunches under the force, breaking up into tiny little pieces. I don’t stop until a black reel of tape is the only thing left tangled amongst the wreckage. It’s as black as the veins woven around my heart.
Happy it is destroyed beyond repair, I lift my wide, massively dilated eyes to my mother. “I made her a promise. I said I’d never stop until I found the people responsible for her death.” I don’t need to articulate Dominique’s name for my mom to know who I am talking about. She heard the words I promised to Dominique before she died because she was there, kneeling beside me.
“I know, Son, but you made promises to Zariah long before Dominique came into the picture.” She points to Zariah leaning against the wall I had her pinned to. Her face is as wet as my mother’s, her lips blistered from running her teeth over them. “Your anger is confusing you, and it has you fighting the wrong battle. Zariah is not your enemy, Asher. She is the woman you pledged to protect long before any of this happened.”
“Then why did she go against me?! And why is she keeping secrets from me?!”
My mom steps closer to me, her eyes nurturing. “That’s the point I’m trying to make. Why would she go against you? She has no reason to keep secrets from you. You’re just so hellbent on getting revenge, you’re not listening to anything anyone is saying.” Her watering eyes dance between mine. “That’s why you killed Ruslan. You were angry at Zimiyi for hurting Zariah, but instead of punishing him, you took all your anger out on Ruslan.”
I want to argue, but there’s no point. Everything she says is true. I killed Ruslan to make a point. Not just for my mother, but Zariah as well. I want my men so afraid, they won’t be tempted to look in Zariah’s direction, much less grab her like Zimiyi did.
My jaw grits when my words come out with a quiver, “They need to pay for what they did.” I could blame my heaving chest for the waver in my tone, but I know that isn’t the cause. I’m furiously mad, but not all my anger rests on the shoulders of the people responsible for Dominique’s death. Some of it is mine.
I’ve told myself time and time again the past thirty-six hours that I don’t care about Zariah, but I do. The feelings I had for her didn’t just disappear when our families became enemies. They remain no matter how hard I fight to ignore them, which annoys me greatly. I gave Dominique my word that I would avenge her death. I can’t do that and keep the promises I made to Zariah as well.
One must die. I just don’t know which one.
Chapter 13
Zariah
One Month Later. . .
“Add an extra tablespoon of sugar into the mix; it might sweeten them up a little.”
Eda chuckles before dumping a big clump of sugar into the custard we’re preparing for theponchikswe’ll serve to a group of hungry men tomorrow. The past month has been odd, but I’m settling in better than I anticipated. My exchange with Asher was extremely disturbing, but it was what we needed to move beyond our past and toward our future.
I don’t mean a future with a wedding dress and church bells ringing in the distance—our wedding date arrived and left without any fanfare. I mean the one where Asher governs his realm, while I serve him and anyone he demands I serve. I guess that’s why things have run so smoothly. I’ve learned my place, so there’s no need for Asher to govern everything I do. I help prepare and serve the food; he eats it and leaves. That’s as far as our interactions have gone the past four weeks.
Although I haven’t stepped back as far from “the help” role as Farah would like, she’s still happy with the improvements I’ve made. She knows as well as I do that this makes things less complicated and will save a lot of heartache. My mother and she did the exact same thing their first four years of imprisonment.
Brushing off the oddity that I’m more like my mother than I realized, I shift on my feet to face Eda. “I’ll run these out before coming back to help you dish up the meals.”
I wait for her to nod before making my way into the main dining room. Asher’s crew isn’t as rowdy as they usually are. The first few days following Ruslan’s death were notably awkward. No one uttered a syllable, not even Asher. But as the days went on and the fear subsided, so did the hushed whispers. Asher’s men are an extremely rowdy bunch who are more interested in scarfing down the meals I serve than pay me any attention. Although confident their subdued behavior has more to do with Ruslan’s punishment than my developing culinary skills, I’m still grateful. This isn’t a life anyone would sign up for, but it’s better than having no life at all.
The reason for the crew’s good behavior comes to light when I pace closer to the table. There are a lot more females seated around the space usually reserved for men. They’re dressed up in fine threads that make my sweatpants and food-stained shirt stick out like a sore thumb. They must be going out to celebrate. The last time they were this dressed up was Christmas Day. It’s not often celebrated here, but the newer, hipper generation is slowly reviving old traditions.
There’s no traditional holiday this month, but I guess any reason to celebrate is a good reason. . .unless you’re the help. The only gift Eda and I got for Christmas this year was permission to head to bed earlier than usual. I got eight hours sleep instead of my standard six. I plan to use my early mark tonight a lot better than I did last month.
The dreary cloud hovering above my head slips away when a deep voice asks, “What’s on the menu tonight,malysh?”
After placing one of the bread bowls I’m balancing in the middle of the table, I turn to face the voice. I’m not stunned when I see the smirking face of Wyatt reflecting back at me. He’s the only one game enough to call me “baby” in front of his peers because his veins hold the same DNA as Asher’s. He is his little brother.
“The cooks were set to makeukha.” He pulls a face that makes me smile.Ukhais a broth-like soup filled with fish. Tonight’s fish of choice was catfish, making the dish even less appealing. “But Eda and I convinced them to makepirozhkis. Growing men need lots of meat, potatoes, and carbs, not smelly fish slops.”
Wyatt rubs his tummy in agreement before stealing a breadstick out of the basket. “And dessert?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I have the night off. Once dinner is served, I’m free to go.”
His whistle rustles my hair. “Nice. Does Asher now about this?”
I freeze, unsure why it matters if Asher is aware. He didn’t grant my absence, but I put in the hard work the past month that led to Eda and I being awarded a few hours off this evening, so why is Asher’s permission needed? I follow his rules to the letter; extra governing is not required.
Before I can answer Wyatt, a voice at my side answers on my behalf, “I’m aware.”
Asher slips into his chair at the head of the table before jerking his chin up, requesting for me to pass him the bread bowl I’m grasping. They’re the first two words he has spoken to me since our exchange last month. It’s not like we’re purposely avoiding each other. He’s asleep when I sneak out in the mornings—thankfully alone—and nowhere to be seen when I go to bed each night. Except for crossing paths here in the dining room, I haven’t seen him, much less had the chance to speak to him.
