Almost everything Asher wanted to accomplish is done. Jenkins let me know that Sergei’s untimely demise happened yesterday, so the only thing we’re waiting on is for Yegor to be brought to justice. And then I can get the hell out of here and go home. But as I think about it, my heart sinks, and for the thousandth time, I cry. Because . . .where is home now?I went from Kyle’s apartment to Asher’s, and now that things have ended, I’ll have to find my own place.
All the dreams I had begun to let myself have deflate in a puddle of fresh tears. The night of the car chase, Asher had asked me if I wanted to have kids with him. I’d meant it when I’d said yes. Then we had ended up at his estate on Long Island, and even though we had been in danger and there was so much going on, and even though the house is ridiculously big, I couldn’t help but picture it—a life there with Asher. A wedding on the vast grounds. Children eating at the table in the sun-filled dining room and hiding in all the nooks and corners, causing chaos in the pristine manor. I couldn’t help but picture it and want it.
I still want it.
But how can I trust it? How can I trust that Asher won’t do this to me again someday? Is that a risk I’m willing to take?
I don’t know.
But being away from him feels like torture. And I don’t know if I can take a lifetime of this. I’m still so mad at him, but I can’t stop loving and wanting him despite it. When this is all over and I’m back in New York, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay away from him. I don’t know if I can just let those visions, those dreams of our future, go. But I also can’t trust him.
It’s all a mess.
“Emily just emailed me,” Flores says, sitting down on the pool chair next to me. “The breakup will be formally announced a week after Edward Langford’s memorial, which is in three days. They don’t want the news to overshadow the event.”
I swipe away my tears and nod.
Clearly Asher doesn’t feel the same as I do. If he’s ready to release a PR statement, it seems he’s okay with our breakup and is ready to move forward with his life. Without me.
“Can I go home then?”
Flores winces. “No. Mr. Langford thinks it would be best for you to be out of the media spotlight when the news hits. For your safety and privacy. Plus, Yegor is still proving to be difficult to get a lock on. You’re not leaving until that changes.”
“If Asher doesn’t want to be with me, why does he care?” I hiss, wiping snot from my nose.
God, will I ever be done crying?
“If you think Mr. Langford doesn’t want to be with you, you’re a fool. You’re the one who broke up with him, remember?”
I shoot her a glare. “He drugged me, had me brought here, and is keeping me here against my will.”
“To keep you safe.”
“I’m a prisoner. Yes, I know, it’s a luxurious prison,” I say forthe millionth time, rolling my tear-filled eyes, “but it’s all been done without my input or consent. Why does no one seem to understand how violating that is?”
Flores gives me a pitying look. “I get it. He did a shitty thing. He shouldn’t have drugged you, and he should have talked to you about his plans. But you also wouldn’t have agreed to come, so in some ways, you forced his hand. Even now, you still aren’t willing to see how dangerous Yegor is. He’s one of the heads of the Russian mafia for Christ’s sake. He’s a very dangerous man, and if he got a hold of you, you don’t want to evenimaginewhat he’d do to you.
“So, if you can’t understand why that might make Mr. Langford a little paranoid, a little overreactive, then you’re not helping matters. Your life is invery real danger, Ms. Hale. Especially now that Mr. Langford has thrown down the gauntlet. He’s destroyed everyone but Yegor, and Yegor is aware of that and won’t go down without a fight. The last thing any of us want is to hear that he’s taken you hostage. Death may very well be a mercy in that scenario. So, get over your tantrum, enjoy your tropical paradise, and stop calling it a prison. It’s for your protection.”
She stands and leaves without another word.
Jenkins bearhugs me from behind and roughly hauls me into his chest.
“What are your options to break my hold?” he asks, his arms gripping me so tightly they might leave bruises.
The warm, humid air coats my skin, making it slick with sweat as we work through our self-defense session on the grass behind the house.
“I could head-butt you if I have the angle to hit your nose.”
“Only do that if it’s your last resort, don’t forget that a head-butt, even using the back of your head, could hurt you. What are other vulnerable parts of my body you could reach without hurting yourself?”
“Your instep.” I lift my foot and pretend to stomp down on Jenkins’s right foot.
“Good. What else?”
“I could use my elbow.” I twist and shift my weight and pretend to elbow him in the stomach.
We go through the motions again and again until we’re both dripping with sweat and out of breath. When Jenkins is satisfied with my progress, we end our session and head into the blessedly air-conditioned house.
