“He’s not dead,” I speak softly as if it’s my excuse. Logically, I know he’s dead. He must be. But the fear that he’s not is so real, so visceral that I can’t contain it. I can’t shut it down.
Carter’s grip on me tightens as I hear him breathe heavier before huffing a low sound mixed with a grunt of anger. The second he moves away from me, all I feel is the chill of loneliness.
With one heavy step, Carter kicks over the chair, sending Stephan’s heavy body to the floor with a thud, and again the men back up while Romano says something I can’t hear. It all turns to white noise as Carter kicks the limp body. Stephan’s head falls to the side and I have to move to my right, my knees rubbing against the unforgiving floor as I look into his eyes. Still open, still staring aimlessly.
“He’s dead, Aria. He’s fucking dead!”
My head shakes as my pulse quickens, the palms of my hands sweaty. “He can’t be,” I say but my words are weak.
Carter leans over the dead body, gripping my chin in both of his hands and pulling me closer to him, but I react quickly, terrified that Stephan could reach up. That he would get me if I dared to take my eyes from his.
“Un-fucking-believable.” Carter’s mutter sends hatred through me. Hatred toward myself and my cowardice. How many years have I woken in sheer horror at the vision of the man lying dead at my feet? Enough that logic betrays me, making me think there’s no way that he’s dead.
“I’ll give you his head,” Carter says and not understanding, my eyes lift to his for only a moment, but he’s already crouching down, the knife in his hand. He lifts it high in the air and strikes it against the open wound in Stephan’s throat. His muscles tense in his neck as he hardens his jaw. Anger is evident in his strained expression as he strikes again and again, taking his frustration out on Stephan’s neck.
He holds the knife in place, sweating and panting with both anger and exertion. Carter’s shoe slams against the slick side of the knife. Over and over each thrust of his leg is accompanied with more power, more anger—no, outrage, that Stephan’s neck doesn’t split beneath the blade. My body jolts with each impact, and the awe of watching Carter destroy Stephan by tearing his head from his body slowly helps restore my sanity.
A crunch that makes my gut twist and turn echoes through the room, as does the deep growl of irritation that rumbles from Carter in a snarl. As Carter lifts his bloodstained shoe, Stephan’s head rolls backward, parted from his body.
My erratic heartbeat settles as Carter stands tall in front of me. His usually impeccable suit is a wrinkled mess against his tanned skin. He drops the jacket to the floor and rolls up his sleeves one by one, taking his time as he steadies his breathing. I watch every bit of him morph back into the controlled man I know him to be. With blood splattered on his shirt, his hard jawline seeming even harder in the light from the chandeliers above us, Carter has never looked more dominating as he towers over me.
Men talk around us, but they don’t exist in this moment. Not when Carter’s dark eyes pierce through mine and the shards of silver in them hold me hostage.
“Upstairs.” The word slips from my lips before he opens his mouth. I watch as his tongue wets his lower lip and he considers me. His eyes leave mine to trail down my body and then back up, and it’s only then I remind myself to breathe. “Upstairs to wash myself,” I repeat Carter’s command from a moment ago, letting my gaze move to Stephan’s beheaded body.
When I raise my eyes back to Carter’s, I know he was waiting for me to look back up at him.
I’ve left him waiting.
I’ve disobeyed him.
Everything moves around me slowly as I regain what little composure I have left.
Carter steps over Stephan’s dead body and grips my chin forcefully in his hand. I can’t breathe as he lowers his lips to mine, his eyes never leaving mine and tells me calmly with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “He’ll never have power over you again. The only thing you have to fear, is me.”
Chapter 2
Carter
“What the fuck is this, Cross?” Romano feigns anger in his voice, but the terror is unmistakable.
Picking up Stephan’s untouched and still neatly folded cloth napkin from the table, I wipe the blood from my hands and arms.
My shoulders rise and fall as I go over the last ten minutes. So little time for so much to happen. Romano isn’t meant to die tonight, but I lost my composure. If he doesn’t pull his shit together over Stephan dying, I’ll have no choice but to kill him.