Ruin (The Rhodes 1)

Tristan sits tall in his chair, his dark eyes meet mine. When he speaks, the chillness of his voice sends frost down my spine. “As Aunt Eva predicted, Uncle Arthur’s control slipped. The day of her last entry was the day Uncle Arthur killed her then killed himself, leaving Aaron parentless. The only good thing the tragedy brought was giving Aaron his voice back. Although it only came from the shock of seeing his parents dead. That’s when Father adopted him. Aaron was raised with us, barely coping with what happened. Then, grandmother sent us to a boarding school, following our lineage’s customs. But only my little sister and I went t

o the school. Aaron was sent to a mental institute instead. An underground illegal ward that used unorthodox methods and experimented on their patients, age didn’t matter. The old hag always hated Aaron. Uncle Arthur and Aunt Ariel belittled her and made her feel insignificant. For her, Aaron was one of them. When Father found out, about a month later, he brought us all back home. Only Aaron seemed to have lost a part of himself in that place. He became hollow and lifeless. Nothing like a child, more like Uncle Arthur and Aunt Ariel trapped in a little boy’s body.”

Tristan goes quiet. As if retelling the memories weighed on him as much as it tore me apart. I wipe at the tears stroking my cheeks. God, why does a person have to go through all of that? He was only a little boy. An innocent kid. I hug my waist, afraid to hear the rest, yet I murmur, “And then?”

Tristan sucks in a deep breath. Although I never thought it possible, his face darkens further. “Then we were ambushed during a quiet family lunch. Our entire family and our partners’, The Harts, were killed except for me, Aaron, and Dylan. We were taken into The Pit and made into assassins. Dylan and I were twelve. Aaron was ten. We only escaped about eight years later by the help of our guards who spent all those years looking for us. We’ve been rebuilding our families’ names since then.”

Silence again. My tears flow unchecked this time. I don’t even attempt to wipe them. What destiny is that? Is that what Aaron meant the other day by saying the price of the estate is the soul of everyone living inside it? They did kill everyone but him, Tristan, and Dylan. Does that mean they won’t stop until they kill the three of them?

“Will they send more people to kill Aaron?” My murmur’s haunted.

“They could try. I have a plan to bring them all down soon.” Tristan supports his elbows with his thighs as he leans close. “For that, I need your help, Mae.”

“Me?” My voice comes out harsher than intended.

“Aaron suffers from a rare case of psychosis similar to schizophrenia. Since he refuses treatment, I don’t know how serious it is or what form it takes. But I’m positive that it’s spiralling out of control. If I force him into treatment, I will only aggravate his state. But if I cannot ensure his safety, we will be easy prey to The Pit’s assassins and the ones who betrayed our family.” He pauses, voice deepening. “That’s where you come in. I know Aaron enough and I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. You’re special to him. If anyone can convince him, then it’s probably you.”

My breath catches in my chest. The butterflies in my stomach erupt with a giant flip.

No.

Tristan is using me. He would tell me everything I needed to hear to get what he wants. I’m not falling for his manipulations.

“He won’t listen to me,” I say matter-of-factly. Tristan’s crazy if he thinks Aaron listens to anyone but his own head.

“Try.” Tristan smiles. “I will give you back your freedom in return. You’re innocent, you don’t deserve to be here.”

If I try then it’s not for freedom. It’s for Aaron.

. . . . .

I lie facing Aaron. The steady rise and fall of his chest transfixes me. This man is tragedy incarnate. Would he have become a killer if he wasn’t trained to be an assassin?

My palm reaches out to caress his stubbed cheek. Heat instantly seeps through my skin.

Why am I feeling this bad for him? I’m suffering from that Stockholm syndrome thing, aren’t I?

“I’m sorry for trying to kill you,” he whispers, his eyes closed. When he flutters them open, they’re an odd mixture of softness and harshness. Stormy black wells. “That wasn’t me... or at least not the version I want to be.”

An arrow strikes me in the chest, but instead of pain, joy spreads into my limbs. I murmur, “It’s okay.”

“It is not okay.” His thumb caresses my lips. Jolts of electricity travel throughout my body, sucking me into a hole of forbidden need. “You’re fucking me up, Mae, and it is not okay. It is dangerous.”

I stare into the once-bottomless eyes. They consider me with warmth so intense I wish to drown in them. “I’ll accept it.”

Aaron gathers me close, keeping a little distance between me and his bandaged chest. He inhales the top of my head before planting a soft kiss on my forehead. My body melts in his arms. I want to remain here forever.

Oh God. What is this feeling spreading inside me? Infecting every cell?

No. This can’t be.

The realisation of my feelings shatters me into a million pieces. Ones I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick them up again.

I’ve fallen in love with my captor. A serial killer. A psychopath.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Aaron