Page 62 of Rebellion of a Kingdom

“Is it yours?” I toss back, watching his fist clench around the glass in his hand, but he remains silent. I think he is going to leave, but instead he drops into one of the stools and sighs.

I don’t know why I start talking, but the words leave me before I can stop them. “My father was a serial killer.” His head snaps in my direction as soon as I speak, my focus remaining on my now empty glass.

When he doesn’t react more than that, I continue, “there were so many women.” I pour another drink and take a healthy sip, I need it. My father would bathe them, dress them, do their hair and makeup, and then pose them. Then once he had indulged himself in his sick fantasy, he would murder them.

Asher remains silent yet, his full attention is on me as I speak, “I helped him. It was our little game, our little secret.” I have never told another soul what happened that night. Not the police, my social worker or even my brothers, so I don’t know why I tell him. I just feel like I should. I don’t tell him how scared I was or how wrong it felt, I don’t want his pity. It’s why I’ve never told anyone else. They would say things like ‘you were just a kid’ or ‘you didn’t know any better’. But they’d be wrong, because I did know better, I was just a coward.

“My mother was his final victim.” My spineless behavior and fear of my father left me blind to protecting her. If I would have just stopped him, told someone, she would still be alive. Her death was my fault.

“None of the others screamed.” I recall, they were all so silent and docile, but not my mom. She begged him, pleaded with him, she cried so hard her voice went and he just ignored her. He said he would let me say goodbye, that it was his gift to me, and I should be grateful. Then he strangled her.

“He killed her right there in front of me. Then I killed him”

The silence following my admission should be awkward, deafening yet I find nothing but comfort. Like a weight has been lifted off my chest at my admission. I can feel Asher’s stare burning into me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. To allow my darkness to mix with his, it won’t change anything. I don’t know how long we sit there, but for the first time in a while, the silent company feels nice.

When he finally breaks his silence, I don’t expect what comes out of his mouth. “That’s how you knew how to trust Elle right from the start. Why you had her back, no questions asked. You saw the look in her eye. The one that only comes from a specific type of trauma.” He knocks back the rest of his drink and I am once again transfixed by the masterpiece that is Asher Donovan, as he swallows it down.

“Isn’t it funny how one night, one moment, can just change the course of everything.” He says, staring down into his own glass, thankfully, completely oblivious to my stare. “I still remember her eyes, the way they were before. I had never seen eyes as blue as hers, or a smile as big. I envied Marcus when we met.” He admits, and it’s like he senses my raised brow because he shakes his head. “Not in the way people always presume. I envied their friendship, their closeness. I’d never had that. We moved around a lot, never settling in one place for long. When we got to Black Hallows, and I saw the bond they had, the friendship they’d built. God, I wanted that.” He shakes his head, like the memories are just barreling into his mind.

“You have that.” I tell him solemnly. I see the way he and Elle are with each other. They have each other's back no matter what. They have killed for one another and would die that way too.

“Yeah, at what cost?” He snaps. “My friendship with Elle led her right into a pit of fucking snakes.” He grips the tumbler so hard I don’t know how it doesn’t break, and I can’t control myself.

I storm around the counter until I am next to him, “No. It led her to an unbreakable friendship, to the father of her child, and to a family she adores. Don’t ever forget that. You are not your father’s son, Asher.”

His stormy blue eyes lock with mine as he digests every word I say. His body turning towards mine, bringing his knees against my outer thigh as he replies, “neither are you, Lincoln.”

He stares at me intensely, and the way he says my name has me thinking ungodly things. I feel like we have broken through the invisible barrier that always seems to sit between us. He’s looking at me and finally seeing the real me, like no one else has before. The connection like no other I’ve ever felt. He looks like he wants to say more, do more, but that can’t be right. Just as I open my mouth to ask, someone else beats me to it.

“What’s going on here then?” Logan's flirty banter breaks us apart. I watch as those Donovan defenses slam back into place. That barrier rising back up, never to be brought down again.

“Just talking shit,” Asher responds without taking his gaze from mine, before he finally breaks it, grabbing his glass and slipping off the stool. “It’s late, I’m gonna head to bed.” He doesn’t look at either of us as he rinses out his glass, and then leaves without another word.

I can feel Logan staring at me, but my gaze trails after the unattainable and forever out of reach dark prince.

“Don’t let yourself sink, Lincoln.” Logan says, stepping up beside me.

I turn to look at him, letting myself appreciate the beauty that is Logan Royton. We have been getting closer these last few weeks, but neither of us has stepped over the line we crossed in the gym again. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He sighs, “I know better than anyone what it’s like to be caught in the tsunami that is Asher Donovan. I’ve drowned in it for years, and trust me when I say, it doesn’t come with a life raft.”

He looks at me one more time and I detect a hint of pity in his gaze, before he shakes his head and returns back the way he came, and I remain where I always do. Alone and in control. Ignoring the temptations, they both have to offer. I won’t ever be like my father and take something that doesn’t belong to me, no matter how much I want it.

Chapter 38

ELLE

Iwake up to Marcus’ hands roaming across my naked body. I don’t know how many times we fucked last night, but I do know I lost count. Against the bathroom counter, still covered in blood, in the shower as it washed down the drain and multiple times between these sheets. Just endless hours of pleasure, riding the high and adrenaline of the night before. I should feel something, guilt, grief, remorse? I don’t. I feel nothing but peace and pleasure.

The only sins I will think about are the ones I committed in this bed with my River. I won’t think about my father, about Cherry. I won’t feel any sort of regret. Not for him or for her. They both got what was coming to them. I think Marcus was expecting me to break, distracting me with his body so I could do nothing but be consumed by him. He didn’t need to do that; it happens without him even trying.

That’s why now, instead of worrying about the bodies that were dropped last night, I think about the way his hands grip my waist possessively, the way his stubble covered mouth grazes up my neck. The tug of his teeth on my earlobe, the pads of his fingers as they slip between my legs and cup me. The groan he releases when he finds me wet for him, is fucking unholy.

“Mmm, morning, little King.” He mumbles into my ear, as his finger sinks between my folds, brushing against my clit.

“Morning,” I moan out breathlessly, as he swipes his fingers around my sweet spot, my toes curling in response. Fuck. It doesn’t matter how many times he fucks me. I always want more. My hips start to roll against his hand, and I feel his smile on the curve of my neck.

“Does my baby need something?” He asks, letting his teeth sink into my shoulder as I muffle my moan with a pillow, pushing my hips back into his groin.

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