Page 29 of The Heir
"Go back to sleep," her soothing voice whispers. "Everything is fine."
It kills me to say this, but I don't trust her words. I snuggle back into the sheets and lie in wait, perfectly awake. A few moments later, her footsteps resume, and muffled voices echo down the hall. It sounds almost like she's… arguing with Roman?
"This again?" I grunt as I stomp out of bed.
"—don't understand! Why can't I just talk to her?" Melody hisses from the living area.
"She needs time to heal!" Roman snipes back. "You killed a manin front of her. She had to watch himrot. She needs time to heal, time away from you!"
Helena. Come to think of it, I haven't spoken with her personally, myself. Guilt heats my neck and slithers in my bones. I should have done more. I couldn't keep my wife out of jail, out of prison, and I couldn't keep our baby safe. What business do I have with Helena? I'm the asshole who got her kidnapped. I'm the asshole who can't keep anyone safe, no matter how hard I try.
"Time away fromme?I did what I had to do to get us out!" Melody roars. It sounds like she's thrown something against the wall, and I cringe as I hear glass shattering. Hopping out of bed, I scurry up the stairs to intervene.
"You're fucking hysterical. Go back to bed." Roman dismisses her with a wave of his hand.
"Roman, I swear to god, if you disrespect meonemore time—" Melody snarls, but he cuts her off.
"You'll what? Yell for your husband? Scream in my face? Stab me?" He laughs. "Good fucking luck. I know your style, girl. I know you get sloppy when you're mad. Or don't you remember?"
"Dante." Melody looks over to me with a deadly glare. "How attached are you to this one?"
Oh, fuck. Oh, this is bad. "Quite, my love. Quite attached."
"Run back to your husband, little girl." Roman smirks. "Don't worry. Once Ella's dead, you and I will have it out once and for all."
"Watch your fucking back, Roman." Melody points a shaking finger.
I run a hand down my face and let out an exasperated sigh. I'm gonna lose Roman, I'm sure of it. But for her? Anything.
Melody
Fury rushes through my veins as I stomp away from Roman and his stupid fucking face. I hate him. I don't understand him. He's supposed to beloyal;he's supposed tohelpus. But all he wants to do is snipe at me.
If I didn't know better, I'd say he liked me. Like an elementary school boy teasing his crush on the playground. But that's a very dangerous predicament forhim—and I will not stand idly by. Whirling around to my husband, I grunt and jerk my head toward the bedroom. "C'mon."
He silently follows me, and the instant the door is closed behind us, I round on him with white-hot rage. "We need to fucking kill Ella,now."
"I know, my love. Let me speak with him, alright? Let me speak with him and Melnyk, and I swear to you, we'll have a plan within the hour." He grabs my hands and kisses my fingertips. "I promise. Why don't you take a quick shower, hmm? Try to melt away all that tension?"
I want to be mad. He essentially told me to calm down. I want to lash out at him, at Roman, atanyone. But I need to fucking murder Ella. I need her dead and buried, preferably in lots of teeny tiny pieces. Stiffly, I nod and turn to the bathroom. Maybe he's right. Maybe I need to calm down before I massacre everyone.
The water knobs creak as I turn them, waiting for the hot water to turn the bathroom steamy and relaxing. As it stands, though, the cold water looks more like icy rain. I strip anyway and stand beneath the frigid water. I can't even shiver. I can't wince away from the bone-chilling cold. I just stand there, feeling more like a mannequin than a woman.
Fuck, maybe I really do need therapy.
As the water warms, I grab the shampoo bottle and get to work on my hair. Gnarls and knots fight meevery step of the way. Mounting frustration pours out of me with undignified grunts and yelps as I yank at the tangles in my hair. A massive piece rips mid-way through, and I suddenly cannot stop crying. I didn't even know I was crying, but here I am. Sobbing in the fucking shower again.
Quickly rinsing the shampoo from my knotted hair, I stomp out and wrap a towel around myself. I furiously stalk back up the stairs and rifle through the kitchen's drawers, looking for a pair of scissors.
"Love? What are you doing?" Dante asks, but I shake my head.
Shoving aside electrical cords and pens, I find a pair of scissors in the junk drawer and hack at my hair. Wet clumps fall to the floor around me. I still feel the hot trails of tears down my cheeks, but at least I'm not shaking with disgusting sobs anymore. I feel… lighter. Freer. The damp ends of my hair dust my shoulders, and dark curls litter the floor, but I feelgood.
"My love?" Dante whispers.
I turn to my husband, who stares at me with shock. Roman stands beside him, jaw agape. Drawing myself up to my full height, I simply nod.
"I needed that." I bare my teeth in a vicious smile at Roman. "Where are we with the plan?"
