EMERY
When I wake up next, the room is dark.
I look around, trying to figure out why I was roused out of a dead sleep. My eyes are still heavy and begging for me to close them again.
I napped off and on all day, but I’m still exhausted. I’m not sure if it’s from the excitement of the day or the pregnancy. Probably both.
The curtains are drawn over the only window in the room, but a bit of yellow light from a lamp outside the safehouse slips into the room. Just enough for me to see that there is a bed set up against the opposite wall where there wasn’t before. I can see Isabella’s sleeping form under the covers.
This is it. My opportunity.
Isabella is here with me and, as far as I can tell, it’s the middle of the night. There won’t be a better chance than this to escape.
As silently as possible, I slip out of my bed.
I was unconscious when they brought me in, so I don’t know where anything is. But I find an empty duffel bag under the bed and lay it open on the mattress. I fumble through a few drawers in search of a change of clothes. All I have on now is a large t-shirt, which I assume is Adrik’s. I sniff it and, yes, it’s his. There’s no mistaking that rich musk.
I finally find some clothes in a drawer and choose a pair of yoga pants and a tank top to pull on. Then I throw the rest of the contents of the drawer along with the large t-shirt in the duffel.
I stand back, hands on my hips, and survey the room. I don’t know what else to bring. I don’t know where we’re going. I’m not even sure what will happen once we leave this room.
But I can’t think about any of that right now. If I stop and contemplate what I’m doing for too long, I’ll chicken out. I’ll climb back under the blankets, go to sleep, and hope for the best. I’ll dream about a future with Adrik that I’m not sure exists anymore. It might not have ever existed in the first place.
Hot tears burn my eyes like acid.
I’m standing in the middle of the room, trying to decide how to explain this all to Isabella, when I hear a shuffling behind me.
I spin around just as the door slides open.
I expect it to be Adrik. Of course I can’t escape him, right? He knows everything, doesn’t he? How many times has he told me those exact words?
Hell, there’s probably a camera in this room rigged to track movement. He has probably been sitting in the other room laughing at my feeble attempt to escape.
Except, when the man in front of me looks up, I’m not looking into the face of my husband.
I’m looking into the face of my rapist.
“Yasha,” I breathe, unable to fully believe my own eyes. Even saying his name now is strange. For so long, he was faceless, nameless, just the darkest shadow in the darkest alleyway of my mind.
Now, he has a name. A shape. A pulse.
It’s fucking terrifying.
I resist the urge to look over at Isabella. She’s tucked away in a shadowy corner. Maybe he won’t see her.
“What are you doing here?” I croak.
I don’t know what Yasha knows. Does he remember me? Does he know I recognize him? All of the possibilities swirl around us, compiling the shock and confusion of seeing him standing in front of me.
“I could ask you the same question.” He softly clicks the door closed behind him and turns to face me.
I blink at him. “I… I was in an accident. There was an attack, and Malcolm—”
“Not that, idiot. Why did you marry my brother?” he snaps, cutting me off. “Why are you in this family?”
Isabella’s breathing hitches. It’s a soft sound. One only I hear, apparently, because Yasha doesn’t even look over.
I could yell out for Adrik. But for all I know, he sent Yasha in here. And I don’t want to wake Isabella. I want to spare her from all of this if I can help it.
So I end up just staring at Yasha dumbly, unable to formulate a response.
“Do I need to explain this to you? Have you not put the pieces together yet?” He sighs almost as if he’s bored. “I know who you are.”
“I’m your brother’s wife,” I say.
At that, Yasha smiles. “True. But he wasn’t the first to have you, was he?”
My stomach roils. Acid crawls up my throat. And still, I stand perfectly motionless.
Yasha leans in. “I remember our night together, little one. Do you?”
He’s leering at me like I’m a helpless bunny caught in his trap. It pisses me off. I don’t even consciously mean to, but all at once I find myself hauling my arm back and slapping him as hard as I can.
The sound cracks across the room. My hand stings. Isabella twitches and sighs in her sleep.
But Yasha is too busy lunging forward to notice her. He shoves me back against the bed, fighting for control of my arms.
I claw one hand across his face, drawing a bit of blood above his eyebrow. But he’s stronger than me. He forces my arms down to my sides and pins them tightly against the mattress.
My shoulder blades are grinding together painfully and my muscles are still aching from the accident. Everything hurts and I whimper, too afraid to scream.
“You didn’t fight so much the night we met,” he hisses. “You were much more accommodating.”
“Fuck you.” I spit in his eye.
He lets go of me just long enough to wipe his eyes clear. I try taking the chance to swing at him again, but he catches my wrist in a tight grip, restraining my arm over my head.
“I knew you remembered me the night I came for dinner,” he says. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost,” I correct with a shake of my head. “A monster.”
“Unfortunately for whatever fairy tale you’ve told yourself, there’s no such thing as monsters, Emery Montague.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’d like to ask you the same question.” He licks his lips. “The night we met—the night we…”
“We didn’t do anything,” I growl. “You took advantage of me.”
He rolls his eyes. “So melodramatic! Do you even remember what happened? Tell me the story. I want to hear it from those pretty little lips.”
I can’t remember anything. Aside from a few flashes of Yasha looming above me, the night is a dark-washed blank in my memory.
“You drugged me.”
“Good luck proving that,” he scoffs. “But the night you and I got together was the same day Sofia fled from my brother. It was the same day she died.”
I frown. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s part of the balance,” he explains. “The day my brother took a life… I created one.”
My stomach turns again. Isabella.
“You don’t get to take credit for her, you sick fuck,” I hiss as viciously as I can. “She’s mine.”
“But she looks like me, doesn’t she?” His smile falters. “The wheelchair was a surprise. I’m not so sure what happened there. But otherwise…”
“She’s better than you’ll ever be,” I snap. “You stay away from her.”
“Oh, relax,” he says. “I wish you wouldn’t insist on the theatrics. I’m just here to—”
With all my strength, I roll myself to the side. Yasha’s hand is still clamped around my arm, but he’s off-balance now. He steps back to steady himself, freeing my right leg, and I kick out at him. My leg connects solidly with his hip, and he stumbles back into the bedside table. It bangs against the wall.
And that’s all it takes.
I hear movement in the hallway. And five seconds later, my door bursts open.
“Back away so I can get a clear shot, you motherfu—” Adrik’s voice cuts off sharply. “Yasha?”
The next few seconds are a blur. Adrik steps into the room. His mouth is hanging open. He looks shocked. I can’t imagine why. These two are working together, right?
Yasha finally looks ashamed of himself. He hurries past his brother and out of the room.
Adrik watches him leave and then turns back to me, his brows drawn together. “What the fuck was that about?”
“You’re asking me?” I snap incredulously.