Shutting those thoughts down, I turned into another hard, muscular chest. Cezar’s gentle hands caught me, ensuring minimal impact as he leaned down and whispered, “You like what you see?”
“W-what-,”
He swiped his thumb across my lips, his eyes burning with desire as he licked his lips. “Ion. I saw you looking at my brother and wanted to confirm that what I saw was correct.” He stepped closer; we would be chest to chest if I didn't have this damn sling on my arm. He kissed the hollow of my neck, causing me to hiss at the shot of pleasure that went down my body. “It's okay. I think he wants you to. They both do, but Nicu isn't ready yet.”
“Let me guess,” I sassed out, “the voices told you so?”
His hand at my mouth traveled down below my jaw, gripping it hard, rubbing his face into my hair, taking an air full. “While the voices like to judge my brothers and me, this was more of my observation as your first husband. He needs some work, and I won't approve of his husband's status until he proves he's worth it.”
Trying to understand his logic, I asked, “And Ion’s worth it…worth second husband status?”
His thumb pushed my chin up, and he looked down at me, our foreheads touching. He looked at my eyes like I was the only thing on this earth. The only thing that mattered. “He’s getting there. Atoning for his sins.”
My body froze, eyes bounding between his, trying to see if he knew what he was talking about or if it was just some flippant saying. His eyes darkened, and the air around him shifted into something dark and violent. “Oh yes, Zia. I know what happened. They told me, and I had every intention of finding him and ripping his head off his body, but when I saw you lying on his chest sound asleep, the bottle of booze on the floor, and his pain-filled eyes met mine, I knew he would do more damage to himself than I ever could.”
His vicious chuckle vibrated against my lips, and my mind and body warred over wanting to hear Cezar and wanting to grab his neck and slam his lips onto mine. “He has been caring for you and keeping his hands to himself all this time,” his eyes took on a sharp glint, “I’ve been enjoying throwing my status in his face, but it's time to grow up.” Furrowing my brows, I tried to understand what he was saying, but it was Cezar, so it was hard.
Directing my chin down, his lips brushed along my forehead, something so sweet it was directly opposite where this conversation started. “Sharing is forbearing, right? That's how the saying goes?”
It wasn't, but I didn't see the need to tell him, so I nodded like usual until I digested what he said. “You…,” not thinking it was possible, “you wouldn't mind your brother and I…”
His lips turned up as he bent his head back, looking at the sky. “If that's what you want, I’m fine with it.” He looked down, running a finger down my neck, leaving a hot trail in its wake. “You were always meant for the three of us. The voices told me you would help us, that we’re broken and need you.” His finger ran down between my breasts, and he took in a ragged breath. “The only reason I’m first is because I had the voices telling me. If either of my brothers had voices, they would be in the first spot, which would’ve driven me crazy. So I guess it's good to have these guys in here,” he tapped his head, grinning down at me. The story Nicu told me weaved its way to the forefront.
Cal, Nan, M…his voices were his first victims, yet he was a victim himself that night. At first, I thought about how my professors would analyze it. He was an abusive and controlling father, forced to do something he wouldn't have done, and therefore, he was manifesting these “Voices” as a way to cope. It made sense.
Then how did he know about what happened with Ion? He wasn't there, and I know I didn't talk about it, and Ion seemed too sorry to talk about it…were they really…?
“It's here.” Nicu's monotone voice sounded next to me, and I jumped. Hands clasped behind his back, he turned on his heel and walked to a medium-sized plane that looked like it could seat twenty to thirty people.
Following Nicu, Cezar scoffed, mumbling under his breath. “I know Nan, he’ll need to do something big to earn his spot. Fucking weirdo.”
I would’ve laughed, but every muscle seized as I stared at the plane. Forcing myself to move, each shaky step getting heavier, this ominous doom in my chest weighing me down the closer we got to the stairs. It didn't help that Ion and Nicu were waiting at the bottom, watching me, like guards at a prison, watching an inmate walk to the chair. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, like air wasn’t coming in, only going out.
A strong hand settled on my back, not pressing me forward, just sitting in support. “Let's go, princess. One step at a time.” Slowly tipping my head up, a set of strong, piercing dark eyes stared down at me, reassuring me that even if everything wasn't okay, I could face it, even if it was my death.
Strength spread from his palm on my back, and I closed my eyes and let it take over. With a trembling hand, I gripped the rail and took the first step, keeping my eyes on that plane doorway until a man in a uniform stepped into view and held out his hand. His accent was heavy and thick as he bent his head. “Welcome aboard, miss.”
Something sliced through the air between the man and me, causing us to jump back as something landed with a thud. We both looked at the handle of a knife sticking out of the partition. Angry steps followed as Cezar’s menacing tone got closer. Even though his eyes held a deadly edge, his lips tipped up into a smile, making the interaction jarring between the two personalities. “Touch her again, and I’ll hang you upside down in the back of the plane, rearrange your insides like scrambled eggs, and feed you to stray dogs when we land.” Keeping his eyes down, he nodded and scurried into the cockpit, looking like he was about to pee his pants.
“Cezar, he was only-”
I was cut off short when his hand settled on my waist and maneuvered me into the plane. “Ya, sure, but the facts remain. If he touches you, he’ll feel pain. So much pain and misery that he will regret ever being in your orbit.”
Just as I was about to argue my point, I turned to take my seat and jerked to a stop. Oversized dark gray leather seats, two on each side, lined the first two rows of windows, facing each other with a mahogany table between them. Behind those seats on the left was a solid L-shaped gray couch with light gray and black pillows. Across from the couch was a full bar, all in that piano-finished mahogany. At the back was a closed door, but TVs were on either side of the door and at the front of the plane. Each seat even had a tablet in front of it. Every inch of this plane spoke the language of luxury and money, something I knew nothing about.
He guided me to one of the seats, sitting across the table from me. The chilled leather of the seats felt more like a cage, keeping me in place. The air in the cabin thickened as Ion and Nicu sat down in the two seats across the plane from us, the space feeling smaller and smaller the longer I sat there. Distracting myself, I watched Ion fidgeting in his seat, Nicu’s dark gaze on me the entire time as I tried not to notice. In different ways, both of them reminded me that this was just a gilded chariot taking me to Hell.
When I was alone, not distracted by Ion’s face or Cezar’s antics, my mind would be consumed with what Nicu told me. I could tell he told me that to scare me, to make me realize what I was going into, and to prepare myself, but all I kept thinking about was them and the anger I felt towards their father.
My heart bleeds for Ion and how much his mother must have meant to him, even as she did the unthinkable and caused him so much pain in her escape. I shed tears for Cezar, for the little boy who must’ve been so consumed with guilt and pain for what he’d done and then to be locked up in the dark, alone with the dead bodies of the people you cared about the most. It was vile and cruel on another level…just to make him into a sharp and deadly tool at his father's disposal.
Then there was Nicu.
While he never talked about it, I could tell he didn’t escape his father's wrath. This past week, I’ve paid special attention to him and noticed that he froze for a second whenever his father was mentioned. He would always turn my prescription bottles to face forward and be perfectly centered and in a line. When he set down a tray of food in front of me, if the fork was slightly off, he would center it on the napkin before leaving. He always smoothed down his clothes, like the wrinkles from sitting bothered him. All of this signaled his need for control and order, something that was a textbook for childhood trauma.
The plane shook, and I grabbed both armrests to steady myself. Pain sliced at my shoulder, and I squeezed my lips shut from crying out. Soon, the plane leveled out, and I took a shaky breath.
Cezar was kneeling in front of me in a flash, glaring at my shoulder like everything was its fault. “I know, Nan, I know.” Blowing exasperated, he took my hand and looked at me. “I think you should lie down. It might be easier on your wound.”
