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Jasper closed his eyes and laughed. "Smart fucking brain," he muttered, and ran a hand over her hair before setting it on her thigh.
Archie studied his hands carefully, imagining them not as the hands which used floggers and whips with such care, which could rouse her to orgasm with little effort, but as killing weapons. Frowning, she captured one in both of hers and used her thumbs to rub over the firm skin, trace the strong bones and ridge of his knuckles. When she flipped it over, studying the long fingers, the rough palms, she glanced up at him. "These aren't serial killer hands."
"Jesus, Anarchy. That's because I'm not a serial killer," he said quietly. "I'm a goddamn landscaper."
Suspicious, she glared at him. "Like, gardening?"
"Exactly like gardening."
She snorted in disbelief. "I'm more inclined to believe you're an assassin. Are you going to tell me the truth?"
Dominant Jasper rose so quickly to the surface, she nearly fell backwards off his lap. "Calling your Dom a liar will earn you double the strokes you've already amassed, Anarchy. Are you willing to bet your ass on whether I'm lying or not?"
Ah, that would be a resounding no. Jasper didn't lie. She clutched his hand as it dawned on her that, if he was telling the truth, she was sitting on a dangerous man. But then, she knew that already, didn't she? It was one of the things that drew her to him, that air of danger. "No, Sir, I'm not."
"Good choice. My father is a dick," he told her without preamble. "He's arrogant, cruel, and has no regard for people other than what they can do for him. He impregnated over a dozen women and took the babies from their mothers so that he and his crazy bitch of a wife could experiment on them as they grew up."
Anarchy blinked. The solid ground of her world heaved as though a bomb had just detonated beneath her.
"I was raised from a young age to fight, to become a machine rather than a boy. I won't go into the gory details, but I did a lot of bad things under my father's directives. Things I'm not proud of, things I'll never do again. Ever." His jaw clenched so tight, the muscles ticked. "I was supposed to be an assassin, hired out to whomever needed my services. Pimped out by Dominic, my father."
Her voice was gone. Just gone. There was a fury in her simmering quietly in her belly, growing like wildfire when she envisioned a small blond-haired, blue-eyed boy being trained in the art of killing. She had to swallow down bile at the look of self-loathing in Jasper's eyes.
"He taught me how to derive pleasure from pain. It was supposed to be my reward; torture someone, maim them, kill them, and achieve bliss. What greater motive did a boy need?" His voice was brittle, but oh so low. No one outside this room would hear a word of this conversation.
"Sadism," she whispered.
Jasper jerked his head in acknowledgement. "I can't get erect without causing pain. You know that already. That's never going to change, it's too ingrained in me. But I couldn't be what he was determined to make me. There's blood on my hands, Anarchy. It's old, but it's there. I understand if that's something you can't live with. Sometimes I don't think I can live with it. But I promise you, I haven't used any of the training he forced on me to take another life since I left his house over twenty years ago. Hell, almost as long as you've been alive."
Blood on his hands. It was hard to wrap her head around. Taking his hand in hers again, she examined it more closely. Not because she believed there was actual blood on it, but because she couldn't believe there'd been any there to start with. "I'm not going to tell you I'm not a little unnerved by that, Sir. I find it difficult to believe that anyone could force their son to commit murder." She glanced up, found herself trapped in the icy blue of his anxious gaze, and let the tension flow out of her. This was Jasper, her Jasper. "I don't want the details of what you did."
Shame dictated his features. "I understand."
"No, you don't. I don't want the details because I don't think it's fair for you to have to share a horrible experience you've already suffered through once. More than once," she huffed. How many times did someone relive the taking of a life? For someone with a conscience, someone like Jasper, it would haunt him. "Don't suffer through it again for me. Is your father dead?"
"No. That's another problem altogether."
Anarchy didn't consider herself to be a violent person. She disliked confrontation. But seeing the pain Jasper masked was giving her distinctly bloodthirsty urges. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the center of his palm gently. "I'm not going to run screaming, Master Jasper. It might take some time to let it sink in, but what you've told me isn't going to stop me from loving you."
***
Chapter Thirteen
What you've told me isn't going to stop me from loving you.
Jasper stared at his sub, dumbfounded. With one sentence, she'd kicked his legs from beneath him and sat him metaphorically on his ass. In a little over a year, he would be forty years old. Forty, and this was the first time in his life anyone had ever said anything along the lines of loving him.
For the first time in his life, he didn't know how to act.
Anarchy, however, didn't give him a chance to put his foot in his mouth. She grasped his face in her hands and touched her nose to his. Her brown eyes were alive with emotions—anger, humor, sympathy, and yes, love. "I haven't said it before because I didn't know if you felt the same way. Now, I have no doubts. You wouldn't have told me this secret if you didn't." Her lips brushed his, softer than a whisper. "I've loved you for a long time, Jasper. I think I pretty much threw my heart at your feet the first time I saw you in Avalon. Which is how I know you might not be able to say it back to me now. I don't expect you to."
"Archie—"
"Shush. There's too much going on with Bodie for us to delve into the past right now, and I'm fine with that. I need the time to let the anger settle and grieve for a little boy who wasn't given a chance to have a normal, happy childhood. But I think you need to know you're loved, whether you're ready to hear it or not, because exposing your past has shaken you more than you're willing to admit." Another kiss, this time to the corner of his mouth. "I love you, Jasper. I love the man you are now, sadism and all. And I believe, when you tell me more about him, I'm going to love the boy you were, regardless of what was done to him, and what he was made to do."
Goddamn her. Jasper's throat tightened until he couldn't breathe. When had she gotten the power to rip his heart from his chest so effortlessly? When his vision blurred, he tried to turn his head and gather his composure back into a controlling fist, but Anarchy was stronger than she looked, and a hell of a lot more assertive outside of Avalon.
"No, Master. Don't hide from me." She glanced around behind her, then met his eyes again. Hers were starting to glimmer. "There's no one here but you and me. We don't hide from each other, we don't run from each other. If it hurts, let it out. I won't tell."
