“You can’t kill a ghost any more than you can fight fate, Zariah. I thought you knew that better than anyone.”
“I’d rather go down fighting than be seen as a coward.” While my lungs struggle for air, I take a step forward. “Is that why you’re doing this in the dark, Asher? Because you’re not man enough to face me head on?”
A childish squeak pops from my lips when his deep, rumbling voice vibrates through my chest. “Why see fear when I can smell it?”
His arrogant sniff makes my wish to live trump my fear of dying. “Who said I’m afraid of you? I could be merely scared of the dark.”
As my eyes struggle to adjust to the poor lighting, I scan the room. I’m beyond frightened—both of the dark and Asher—but I’m putting on a brave front. I’m older now, wiser. I’m also hopeful Dominique was the only thing he lost the past year. If he still holds the morals his mother raised him with, I may have a chance of getting out of this situation alive.
“Not the first time you’ve been scared of the dark, is it?” My head twists from left to right when the direction of his voice alters its course. He must be circling me. “But childhood fears aren’t why we’re here. Your betrayal is.” I try to interject, but he continues talking, foiling my endeavor. “You took something too innocent and pure for our world and changed it.” His breaths zigzag through my hair when he growls, “You changed her.”
“No.” Although I’m doubtful he can see me in the blackness shrouding us, I shake my head. “Dominique was my friend. I never wanted to change her.”
“Yourfriend? Is that how you lured her into your trap, Zariah? By pretending to be herfriend?”
The goosebumps prickling my skin double in size from the way my name rolls off his tongue. His usually thick timbre has been softened with an American twang, making it huskier than normal. It conjures up hazy, obscured memories that are more frightening than the black hole attempting to swallow me whole. My chest tightens as my breaths turn wheezy. It feels like the room is closing in on me. It shrinks in size with every second that ticks by.
I’m moments away from a debilitating anxiety attack when Asher grumbling my name draws me from the darkness. He’s unhappy with my delay in answering him, but his grumble reminds me that I’m not alone. That fact shouldn’t comfort me, especially considering the reason for our reunion, but for some reason, it does.
With my knees clanging together, I turn to face his voice. Although it is extremely dark, my eyes are adjusting, meaning I can see the outline of his face. It has sharpened with age, but is still familiar.
“I wasn’t pretending. Dominique was my friend. I was as devastated as you when I heard what happened to her.”
I’m not lying. Dominique didn’t speak a word of either English or Russian, but we grew extremely close in an immensely short time. We had a lot in common because she was as imprisoned by the underworld as I still am.
“I never meant for her to get hurt. I just wanted her to be free.”
Something I said angers him greatly. Before I can comprehend what is happening, his hand curls around my throat, and I’m thrust back until I am pinned to a wall. Part of me is petrified, but another part is glad we’ve finally reached this part of our exchange. You have no idea how tiring running from the truth is.
Although my mind wants to give in, my body isn’t as eager. My nails claw at Asher’s hand as viciously as my oxygen-deprived lungs fight for air. Both fights are pointless. I’m not strong enough to battle a man as fierce as Asher under the best of circumstances, let alone when he’s filled with rage.
“To be free from what, Zariah?! From me?! From this lifestyle?!”
I try to answer him, but I can’t. His grip on my throat is too tight. I can’t get any air, much less relinquish words. . . and that’s not even the worst of it. His violence should render me frozen in fear, but for some reason, I’m responding on the opposite end of the spectrum. I’ve never been held in such a manner before, or spoken to so belligerently, but my body isn’t registering my distress as panic. It’s turned on.
As my lips part for air they’ll never suck in again if Asher doesn’t loosen his hold, my nipples bud. As if that isn’t bad enough, the scent of my aroused state lingers in the air within no time at all. Its unique sharp fragrance is unmissable in a room that reeks of death.
I want to blame the vodka I downed during my hour trip to the Yurys’ mansion as the reason for my odd response, but that would mean leaving this earth a liar. It’s him—Asher—his hot breath on my neck, his firm body pressed against mine. Before he became the vicious man needed to see his empire grow to the magnitude it is now, he caught the admiring eye of every woman in Moscow—myself included. I was so besotted with him as a child, my infatuation was borderline unhealthy for someone so young and immature.
My admiration was never returned, though. Not just by Asher, but by anyone in our realm. Before his ruling was toppled by Asher’s crew, my father was the most revered and well-respected man in Russia, so much so, no one was game to touch me. My cheek has never been brushed by the back of a man’s hand, nor my lips parted by a tongue. Excluding Feodor Balstra’s sloppy peck when I was fourteen, I’ve never been kissed. Feo wasn’t eager for a second round of seven minutes in heaven after my Uncle Nesti gave him more than a black eye upon discovering us in the coat room. He spent three weeks in the hospital recovering from six cracked ribs, a shattered cheekbone, and a list of other injuries he’s still too ashamed to admit.
While I settle on the fact I’m about to die a virgin, I bask in the bits of Asher I obsessed over when I was younger. I can barely see through the white spots dancing in front of my eyes, but what I can see is still perfect. The darkness of his hair. The speckles of black in his icy-blue gaze. The way his thumb and index finger nearly touch as he steals a life I’ve barely lived. I take it all in slowly, painfully, almost woozily.
I’m on the verge of collapse when Asher’s voice breaks through the dizziness clouding me. “Fight me, Zariah. Prove your life is worth living.”
I’m most likely hallucinating, but even if I’m not, I won’t fight. I don’t have the willpower or the enthusiasm to think up a reason to stay alive. What good would it do me? Running doesn’t fix anything. If anything, it will make matters worse. This is easier. Simpler. No one will miss me anyway, except perhaps Vaughn, but this will keep him safe. It will also save him more torment. His pain is my pain, his error mine as well. We never meant to hurt anyone.
I use the last of the air in my lungs to speak words I should have spoken years ago. “I’m sorry, Asher. For not fighting harder. For giving up on you. I’m so sorry.”
My head is so woozy, I’m not even sure what I’m saying, but Asher must understand, because just as my body gives up its fight to live, he loosens his grip on my neck. My feet scarcely touch the ground when the same hand he choked me with zooms past my head. Splinters of drywall scatter across my bare shoulders, his hit so forceful it pelts through the wall. Under different circumstances, his strength would be impressive.
Air whisks across my face when he spins on his heels to stalk across the room. Even in the poor conditions, I notice his swagger. It’s a cocky, egotistical walk that reveals how close I came to death tonight. I’ve been issued a pardon. Why? I don’t know. For how long? Your guess is as good as mine. Am I relieved? Yes. But I’m panicked more than anything.
The Yurys don’t award mercy without stipulations attached, so I’m left wondering what my punishment will be—and if death would have been the better option.
Chapter 4
Asher
