Ruin (The Rhodes 1)

Salt saturates my mouth. I choke on my now-hoarse shouts. My legs buckle, I slip to the ground, pulling my knees to my chin. Every breath I take digs nails into my ribcage. Invisible hands reach to squeeze my heart.

Aaron’s dead.

My kidnapper’s dead. I’m free. This is the part where I should jump from joy. Yet, more raw sobs escape my lips. My body gets swallowed in an intense storm, drowning in the loss of oxygen. I hug my waist and stroke my arm. This is way worse than my panic attacks.

This isn’t the freedom I want. I was supposed to talk with Aaron, not witness his blood-stained corpse.

Someone wake me up from this nightmare.

Time passes and I sit there until my limbs sour, too scared to look from the window and realise this could be a reality, not a nightmare.

A finger t

aps on my knee, my heart bumps a violent stream of blood as if resurrected. Am I being awoken now?

I crane my head up. My stomach sinks at the face that greets me. The hair and eyes are similar, but he’s not Aaron.

Tristan stares at me, head tilted to the side, brows furrowed. “Who are you?”

“Aaron... help him.” Is that hoarse whisper mine?

He studies me, the lines of his face undecipherable. “I asked you a question, I expect an answer.”

“Help him first, then I’ll tell you.” My voice rises. Bastard. Isn’t he supposed to help his brother? Unless... Aaron’s really dead. I lock eyes with Tristan, and murmur, “Please.”

His pointy gaze pierces me as if attempting to dissect my soul. “He’s undergoing surgery. Now tell me who are you and how do you know Aaron.”

My lungs contract, receiving the oxygen they were denied.

He’s alive. Oh God, he’s alive.

Energy kicks into my limbs, I jump to my feet, and blurt. “Where is he? Can I see him?”

Tristan’s expression darkens. His voice comes out in a similar harsh lordliness as Aaron’s. “Until you tell me who you are and what the hell are you doing in Aaron’s quarters, there is no going anywhere for you. I could change my mind if you give me what I want.”

“Fine! I’m Mae Wilson. Aaron brought me here weeks ago.” I inch closer to him. “Now, take me to him.”

Tristan stands there, unmoving, as if he didn’t hear a word I said. Studying me seems a better option than going to his brother. After a few moments, and without breaking eye contact, he calls. “Xan. Kane.”

Kane’s bulky tall frame peeks from the doorway. The other tall man with Kane, Xan, is the one Aaron hit to pulp. I haven’t seen him since then.

Tristan finally releases my gaze and focuses on the two men. “Xan is to stay here until it’s decided otherwise. Kane is coming with me.”

Xan gives a curt nod, but Kane shakes his head. “That’s not possible, Your Grace. My life is at stake if I don’t follow Aaron’s orders. I already risked it by opening the door. His guest isn’t to be in anyone’s presence.”

Your Grace? Is he a duke?

Whoa. I’m not into aristocracy or anything but a duke is big. Like right after the royal family big.

“Is that so?” Tristan throws a glance my way, arching an eyebrow, before he goes back to Kane. “Very well, both of you will remain in the West Wing.”

Why are they talking nonsense? Why aren’t they taking me to Aaron? Did his family members and staff drink from the same unemotional fountain?

When I’m about to scream at them, they turn to leave. I follow them before Tristan twirls towards me with an unintelligible expression. “Where do you think you are going?”

“With you.” He says nothing so I continue, “You said you would take me to Aaron if I told you who am I.”

“No, I did not.”