57

TOB 57 ROSE AMARA'S POV My spine has been stiff since I stepped inside. Even though I told Hades to leave, I'm not entirely in control of the situation. He, Zeth, and Eya are waiting outside, and I can call them back in, but that would defy why I came inside in the first place. I try not to stare at Ethan's beaten-up state for too long, but his bloodied lips, eyelids, and nose are hard not to notice. Hades has beaten him to a pulp, which isn't a surprise considering Hades's merciless personality when he sets out to punish someone.  He made Ethan's handsome face unrecognizable. It should feel better this way. He deserves every bit of pain he's now going through. In fact, he deserves more. That's what I tell myself anyway because as I stare at him, that stupid part who had my heart broken when I listened to his phone conversation is also in pain. That fucking part feels as if I'm the one who's been beaten and has swollen eyes and bleeding lips. But why should it? Ethan's injuries might be physical, but mine run deeper. He slammed into my chest and broke my heart, then walked all over it to the point that I'll never be able to mend it back together again. And all of that was because I trusted him. Against my better judgment and doubtful personality, I leaned toward Ethan, and he smashed that trust to the ground. Now, my loyalty, my oath, and my duty toward my family are put to the test. Everything I've fought for is thrust to the forefront, and I cannot ignore it. "Now what?" His voice, although calm, is emotionless as if he doesn't want to speak at all. "Now what?" I repeat incredulously, and it takes everything in me not to shout and hit him. I want to hurt him as much as he's ripping me apart from the inside out. "You dare to ask me now what?" 'What am I supposed to ask then? You brought me here and got me beaten up, so I suppose you have the rest of it figured out." I remain silent for a beat, then ask with a calmness I don't feel, 'Why me?" 'What?" 'You obviously married me for a reason, so I've been wondering, why did it have to be me? Am I the easiest way in? Is it because you already knew me seven years ago? Or have you been planning this ever since we first met?" I hate the emotions in my voice; the hurt behind it all translates to painful anger. Ethan lifts a shoulder. 'You were the most convenient way in, Rose Amara Amber." My hands form fists at my sides, and it takes all of my willpower to not surrender to the agitation. If anger consumes me, I'll commit mistakes, and he'll win without even effort. So I hang on to my apparent calm with chipped nails and bloodied fingers. 'Was anything you ever told me true?" 'Depends on what I told you. Which part?" 'You have no remorse whatsoever, do you?" "If you expect me to feel sorry for going after the people who slaughtered my f-cking parents before my eyes, then no, I have no bloody remorse whatsoever." Up until now, I kind of had the idea that his parents were ghosts. He mentioned that they died, and I thought that was the end of it. 'I was five," he continues with a distant voice. He's staring at me, but he's seeing straight through me. 'My mother was killed when she attempted to take me and leave. Then, my father was shot in the back. Both happened in front of my eyes." The weight of his words strikes me in one brutal blow. It's not only about his parents' tragic deaths but also about the way he calmly spoke about witnessing their murder when he was only five. There are no emotions behind his voice, as if he's numbed himself to those feelings. "I don't recall their faces anymore—their alive faces, at least. The only thing I remember of my parents is their vacant eyes and blood. That's been my driving force ever since I was a boy, but that's not the worst of it. Remember the organization I told you about? It's not a school for killers; it's a f-cking torture chamber called The Abyss. Since we were able to kill, we were forced to carry out hits for money or for our superiors." I'm stunned into silence as I piece together what he's told me. Not only did he lose his parents as a boy, but he was also made into a killer. All of this happened to him while he was just a child. No wonder he became the ruthless machine he is today. No wonder he doesn't hesitate when he kills. His life was finished long ago, so he finds it fair to step on others and murder them. 'That's how far I've come, and I won't stop until those who reduced my parents into vacant eyes pay." 'And I assume they have something to do with the Russian?" 'Everything to do with them." 'Who?" 'Why do you want to know?" 'You already told me the story, so you might as well tell me the perpetrators." 'No. It's my revenge." "Then, at least tell me this. What does brotherhood have to do with your revenge?" 'Everything." 'What is that supposed to mean?" 'You don't need to know." 'Of course I do!" "All that concerns you is that I'm after the  Russians, so it's better to get rid of me now." He motions with his head at the weapon in my hand. "Just a single shot of that gun will do the job, or would you rather Hades do the honors?" 'Stop provoking me. You think I wouldn't do it?" "I'm sure you'd do it. After all, you poisoned me. Way to go, Princess. I'm proud of you." 'Stop saying things like that." 'Like what? That I'm proud of you?" 'Yes. I don't want you to be proud of me." 'Well, I am. I told you that, once cornered, you need to hurt, bite, and kill your way out, and that's exactly what you did." He coughs, blood dripping down his chin and soaking the collar of his shirt further. 'You've come so far since passing away. You didn't let his or your parents' deaths affect you. You just held your head high and forged ahead." Frustrated, angry tears gather in my eyes, but I inhale deeply, refusing to let them out so he won't see how much his words affect me. Not only by what he told me but the entire story about his parents and upbringing. No matter how much it rips my heart, I have a duty, and I can't carry on with that duty if I'm this tangled up in his emotions and feel them as if they were my own. 'Who knew we would find ourselves in this situation?" I ask slowly. 'What situation?" 'Me holding a gun and you being tortured." 'Our marriage started in a bloodbath. Did you really expect it to end any differently?" A pained sigh leaves the depths of my soul. 'Were you really always ready for death?" He nods once, then winces. "I've been ready for thirty years. The time I lived until now has been a ticking timer until I get my revenge." 'Then what?" 'Huh?" 'After revenge, what were you planning to do?" He shrugs as if that's not important. 'Go back to London and take on contracts. That sort of thing." 'Then go." 'What?" I place the gun on the ground and remain hunched down to undo the ropes at his ankles, then release his wrists and torso. Ethan doesn't move, even when he is entirely free. After I'm finished, I step away from him, but I'm not far enough to stop feeling his presence or smelling him. His signature clean scent fills my nostrils, but it's now accompanied by the stench of blood, pungent and poignant. 'What do you mean by go?" I suck in a sharp breath so I can speak with a sliver of calm. 'I'm giving you the only way out." 'What way?" "Forget about revenge and just leave. Go back to London or wherever you want to go. Just don't show your face around here again. I'll make everyone believe you are not made for the Russian and that we amicably split up." He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "You can go through the back door without guards." Ethan staggers to his feet and steps toward me. I step back, my voice turning harsh, like Uncle when he issued orders. 'If I see you again, I'll kill you." Not waiting for his reply, I gather the gun from the ground, turn around, and march toward the front door. My legs are heavy, screaming at me to stop and face him again, to take one last look, one last touch. One last kiss. Walk away. It's done, Rose. Just walk the fuck away. Mom once told me sacrifices must be made for the family and that not all of them would be easy; many would hurt. She said there's no honor without pain. Now I understand exactly what she means. As soon as the door closes behind me with a slow click, I brace myself against the wall for support. My chin trembles, and my legs are about to fail me. I'm breathing violently, as if I'm about to stop any second. That's when I hear it—the sound of something breaking in my chest. At first, it's quiet, almost unnoticeable, but it gets louder and louder until it's the only thing I hear. Ah. This must be what it means to have a broken heart. The most daunting part is that this feeling will never go away.