My shoulders drop, and I let out a long breath. “Yes, sir,” I say through the knot forming in my throat as I pass by him and through the door.
I decide to take the stairs because the elevator will be too quick. I hate my room. It’s too quiet.
Pushing open the door on my level, I step into the hall and come to a stop. The girl stands outside my door, staring at me with a blank look on her face. “Maybe next time, we can play,” I tell her, but just like all the other times, she ignores me.
Entering my room, I climb onto the bed and curl up into a ball. I have a bathroom, but there are no mirrors. There are no towels or toilet paper. My father brings those things in when he decides I need to bathe or use the restroom.
I’m a prisoner here. The worst part is I hate being alone. I just wish there was someone for me to talk to. Someone to play with. I just want to be seen and heard.
KASHTON
Twelve years old
I sit on the concrete floor with my legs crossed. It’s late. The sun will be up soon, and I’ll have to go home, but I needed to see her. To see how she’s doing.
“I brought you some milk,” I tell her. This time I came prepared.
She sits in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest. She rests her head on them, and her matted dark hair covers her face.
I turn the plate long ways to slide it through the bars and set it on the floor as close to them as I can. Then take the cup of milk and pour it onto the ceramic dish.
“I had to pour it onto a plate, but I got you a straw.” I pull it out of my pocket. “Sorry, I must have smashed it,” I say, trying to straighten it out.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” she whispers.
I wrap my fingers around the cold bars and press my face to it, smashing my cheeks. I’m thankful she’s not dead. I’ve been here for several minutes, and she hasn’t moved. I can’t even hear her breathing. “I wanted to see you.”
She looks up, and I smile at her. Slowly, she gets to her hands and knees, and I hold my breath while she crawls across the concrete floor. When she gets to the plate, her shaking hands pick it up, and some spills over the edge before she can get it to her cracked lips. She tilts the plate and drinks the milk, spilling more on her naked body than she actually swallows. Once done, she gasps and pushes it back under the bottom bar. “Thank you.”
I feel bad that I didn’t bring her more. Silence falls over us, and my eyes scan the cell, not wanting to leave her yet. “What are all the lines?”
She looks over her shoulder and answers, “Those are tallies.”
“What are they for?” I inquire.
“I make one every time I think of you,” she tells me.
My wide eyes meet hers. “That’s…a lot.”
“You’re always on my mind, Kashton.”
I’m lying on my stomach, butt-ass naked, in my bedroom at Carnage. The curtains are pulled closed, and the covers are shoved to the foot of the bed. My TV is on some random channel. I’m trying to go back to sleep after I had to crawl out of bed to piss an hour ago. I’m tired and hungover.
So much has happened in the past few weeks, and I’m still trying to comprehend what I refuse to believe. Adam is gone. Again. Dead to the world, but not really. He faked his death. Haidyn is married, and his wife is expecting triplets, and the woman of my dreams has been right here under my nose for God knows how long. And she’s possibly a trained assassin.
Since I started following her, I haven’t seen her with another man. Not one she hasn’t killed, anyway.
If she’s in a relationship, it doesn’t make a difference. If I even think there’s someone in her life, they’re dead. My future wife can’t have someone on the side. All she’ll ever need is me.
And then there’s Sin. I’ve ruined my relationship with him, and he’ll probably never speak to me again. I get that. I fucked up.
On days like this, I just want to stay in bed and do nothing.
The lock on my door clicks, and I groan at being bothered. It’s either Haidyn or Saint. Their wives don’t know the access code to get in.
“What do you want?” I ask, not even bothering to turn my head to see who it is.
“It’s noon,” Haidyn says.
