Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“It wouldn’t surprise me if the Whitmores had a hand in securing Adam’s freedom, so it’s not dragged out and covered at the same time as the election next year,” Andru adds, pouring himself another drink and offering the bottle to Ven who takes it and places it on the counter.
“You look exhausted, Alyona,” Z murmurs, his eyes never straying from me. Rodion’s hold tightens around me.
I am. But we need to get everything out on the table.
“We can leave and talk tomorrow if you need to get some rest,” Andru offers, but I shake my head. There’s something I want to know, and Z deserves to know.
“What happened to Zahkar’s family, the Chesters?” I blurt and the room goes deadly still, silence so deafening I wonder if time stopped.
Rodion’s body tenses beneath me, muscles taut like tightly coiled springs. Z’s piercing blue eyes narrow as his pupils dilate, darkening to almost black and consuming the vibrant color. He takes a heavy, labored breath, before turning to Andru.
“Well?” he prompts, his voice thick with expectation, tension hanging in the air like a storm about to break.
Ven pushes away from the counter, announcing, “I’m going to go to the hotel to give you all some space.” He slaps a hand on Andru’s back. “I’ll send the driver back for you.”
When it’s just the four of us, Andru grips his glass so tightly that the rim creaks ominously under the pressure of his hand. He sets it down as if worried about smashing it in his fist. Then, he rises to his feet, his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor, until he reaches the head of the table. With a deliberate motion, he slips off his tailored jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. His shirt stretches over his broad shoulders when he crosses his arms.
Clearing his throat, he nods his head, and a haunted look takes over his face and leaks into his posture. A bone-deep ache throbs under my skin. Something in the pit of my stomach warns me that nothing good will come from what he’s about to say.
“Two months before my Katrina, Rodion’s mother,” he clarifies for my sake, “killed herself, she was attacked in a grocery store parking lot while putting groceries in the trunk.”
Thud.
“Someone came up behind her with a knife, forced her inside the car, and raped her.”
Oh God. The air chills and my stomach knots harder. My eyes cut to Rodion and tears well in my eyes. He knew this. There’s no surprise on his face. I place a hand on his chest and his comes up to cover mine.
Exhaling a weary breath, Andru continues, “She wasn’t raised with wealth, you see. Instead, she grew up in a small, humble home surrounded by the church community. Her family valued hard work and integrity. They shunned the idea of having servants cater to their every need.” His face becomes animated with his words, emotion written there for us all to witness—love, anger, sorrow. “She found joy in the simple tasks of life, taking pride in grocery shopping and cooking meals for her family.” His eyes close briefly, recalling the memories of her. “She was three months pregnant and lost the baby due to the brutality of the assault.”
The weight of his confession bares down on us all making it hard to breathe. My hand clutches Rodion’s.
“I’m so sorry, Ro.” I choke, watching him as he fixates on Z’s profile. He’s scared.
My attention is dragged back to Andru as he continues. “I sometimes wish I was as forgiving as her. She was beautiful, gentle, and too good for the evils of this world. She wanted to forgive. Immersed herself in prayer.” He goes to the bottle of vodka and drinks straight from it before slamming it back down. “I was not like her.” He shakes his head. “When I found out who did that to her, my rage fueled my need for revenge. I couldn’t eat, drink, or sleep. It consumed me.”
“Who was it?” Z asks, his voice shaking, his head bowed like he already knows the answer coming. Shadows flicker across his face. The horrors of his past are an irreversible scar that he will never fully heal from, and they’re about to be ripped back open.
Andru’s jaw flexes and then he says, “A young man, barely twenty-two. His name was Daniel Chester.”
A gasp slips past my lips and my hand rushes there to cover it.
Z’s back hits the kitchen cabinet, shame washing over his beautiful features. I get up and attempt to go to him, but he holds a hand out toward me. “Don’t.” He swallows, the action visible in his throat, causing the serpent inked there to shift with the movement. My legs tremble. Every fiber inside me is desperate to ease the pain in him.