Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
ASHER
My phone vibrates against the counter, and I already know who it is, so I snatch it up and head for the balcony. Cold air hits my bare chest as I lean on the railing, watching the ocean throw itself at the cliff below, relentless and too fucking dumb to quit.
Bit like me with Ivy.
“Your connection with Ivanya is becoming problematic,” they say, with a bit too much confidence.
Foam hisses across the rocks as a wave breaks apart.
“Not your concern.”
They’re weighing their next words, trying to soften whatever comes out as if it’s gonna make a difference. Spoiler, it won’t, but I’ll let them think it can because I’m generous. Or bored.
They speak again, voice dropping into that careful, measured tone. “I know it isn’t my concern.”
My jaw locks. “Exactly. So why the fuck are you calling?”
The line goes quiet before they finally answer. “Because I am requesting a timeline.”
“You can request whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean you get it.”
Static crackles through the speaker. “Are you getting attached to the girl.”
My lip twitches. “Smoke and mirrors.”
Nothing. They hate it when I talk back. They all fucking did, which is exactly why I love it so much.
“Need I remind you,” they say, spacing the words out like I can’t understand. “Just because you are who you are does not mean you get to play that same hand with us.”
I laugh, then let it die in my throat.
Us?
“How many times do I have to tell you? This, me, her… me…” I hiss, all smirk gone. “Are none of your business, and if you have a problem with that, feel free to crawl out of that cozy little hole and come tell me to my face.”
They blow out a breath. “You’re letting her compromise your judgment.”
“You wanna say that again?” I dare, grip tensing on my phone.
They don’t.
The wind picks up, salt and cold stinging my skin. Somewhere inside the house, a door opens and closes, footsteps padding across hardwood.
“She killed your father, Asher.”
I roll my eyes. “And it’s no secret he and I were never close.” My elbows drop to the railing. “In fact, I’d go as far as to say we hated each other.”
“True,” they mutter, and it’s the smartest thing they’ve said since inconveniencing me with this phone call. “But even then, he is blood. He deserves more respect than that.”
I pause. Should I bring this up? Is it gonna be worth it?
Fuck it. “Do you know who ordered the hit on him? Why he was on Mariée de la Mort’s wedding list to begin with?”
Fucker clears his throat, papers shuffling in the background.
“No, I don’t know. Why would I know?” Suspicion prickles through the line, and I wonder how the fuck they've managed to tiptoe through life convincing people they’re anything other than what they are.
I squeeze the phone. “No reason. Just wondering, is all…”
“Wondering what?” They snap. Fucking lucky they’re not in front of me.
“You know. Whether Ivy is in Le Boucher’s back pocket, since he’s the only one we know who’s fond of knocking leaders off.”
A burst of laughter. “Son, have you been snorting snow instead of shredding it? You give that woman far too much credit.”
“Huh,” I chuckle, watching her move through the dining room, stealing my fucking coffee. “Yeah, no doubt you’re probably right.”
I lean against the balcony door. “Was there anything else you needed? Or did you just wanna chat cocaine and killers?”
The pause drags. “You need to finish this vendetta. Now.”
My grip tightens, plastic creaking under my fingers. “I’m not killing her.”
They huff. “Yes, you are, because you’ve been contaminated by her, and you took an oath. A very long, ancient, sacred family oath.”
Heat floods my chest, my vision narrowing to the ocean below. “Need I remind you, since it’s clear you have amnesia, that I don’t run by the same rules you do. La Maison Du Mal is me and without me there would be no you, so next time you wanna call me quoting a fucking book I recited when I was four years old, I’d suggest you back the fuck up.”
They let it sit, long enough that I think they’ve hung up. “You need to let her go, Asher. Kill her.”
My thumb taps once against the phone’s edge. “Or?”
A tired exhale hisses through the speaker. “Precautions will need to be put in place.”
I end the call before they can say another word, phone sitting in the palm of my hand. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
Precautions.
I’ve got two options and I know it. I either bend to what he wants, or…
I stretch my legs beneath the computer table, finger dragging across my upper lip. One thousand different ways this could go, and they all end the same. I just have to decide which path to take.
A knock breaks through the quiet.