Page 40 of Violent Reign (Violent Kingdom)

Of all things,I didn’t think it would be so emotional to fold tiny baby clothes.

Since my mother died, I haven’t had any reason to think about baby clothes. When that happened, I watched my father choose a tiny newborn outfit for my brother to wear in the casket, and that was the last anyone talked about baby clothes. Or baby things. I’ve rebuilt the nursery from scratch, with all-new furniture, because the stuff that used to be in here was gone a week after the funeral. All of it, as if my tiny brother’s room had never existed. As if he had never existed.

And here I am, all these years later, getting misty-eyed over onesies.

It’s a strange, surface-level feeling. Like some other Avery Capulet is feeling it and not me. My entire being has been overtaken with a seething, quiet rage. I hide it behind tired smiles and casual belly rubs, but it’s there. Always. Even when I sleep. My dreams have only become more blood-soaked and vivid as time goes on. In my dreams, I hold a knife to Nathan’s throat, effortlessly dragging it across his skin, watching as his lifeblood pours out onto the ground.

My feet ache against the plush carpet in the nursery. What would it hurt to lean into these emotions a little more? To let myself feel like a normal pregnant woman?

Who knows. I can’t do it. I can’t risk going down that rabbit hole. I’m so fucking resentful that such a simple thing - enjoying the last days of gestating my babies - has been stolen from me. I can’t enjoy this, not any of it. I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m forever wondering when I’ll be raped, or hurt, or killed.

“Oof.” One of the babies launches herself or himself down toward my pelvis. This should be impossible, because there can’t be any more room left to launch, but they trade places in a never-ending dance. I can’t bring myself to think of names. If I start thinking of names, then I might blurt out the truth about the babies. I don’t want to think about the birth, either.

“Looks nice in here.”

Nathan’s voice scratches trails of hate down the back of my neck. He is always fucking doing this—sneaking up on me, doing his best to startle the shit out of me. I think he wants to scare me into labor. He wants every possible ounce of control.

“Thank you. It was my nursery. Addie’s too.” I have taken to answering him in a low, even voice that’s completely detached from emotion. I can’t let him get under my skin.

It’s not enough to deter Nathan. He steps up behind me and slides his hands over my belly, poking roughly, trying to get the babies to kick.

“What was your nursery like, I wonder?” I say quietly.

Nathan’s hands stop moving for a second, and then he laughs. “Oh, Aves. Just when I think you’re finally going to be less of a bitch, you turn the screws.”

“Yes.I’mthe one who’s turning the screws.” My words drip with sarcasm - so much for being detached - as I turn around in his arms so I can watch his face. He keeps pressing into my belly with his fingers. The babies wriggle like they’re trying to get away. I wouldn’t be surprised if they already knew that Nathan is a violent killer. My hate for him runs thick in my blood, is in my very cells, so it must be in theirs, too.

“I didn’t have a nursery. You know that.” Nathan’s eyes burn across my baby bump. It hurts, what he’s doing, but I don’t react. He doesn’t need another reason to hurt me. Or hurt me more. “I didn’t have anything.”

“I don’t know, actually.” Truth—I don’t know anything about Nathan’s life before his supposed adoption. The present shears away and drops us into the past, and an expression flashes across his face that reminds me of the old Nathan. Of the Nathan he was pretending to be all those years. It’s impossible to know what’s real anymore. “I don’t know what happened to you...before.”

“I don’t remember when I was really small,” he says thoughtfully. “I just know I spent most of my life locked in that basement. Their favorite games to play involved food. Whether I’d get any of it. When it would come. That sort of thing. I didn’t have the kinds of amenities you did. No bathroom. No sink. I put those things in later.” He sinks his knuckles into my belly then abruptly removes the pressure, running a thumb over my popped-out belly button. The only thing keeping me together right now is the fact that it’s not on my bare skin. “My mother needed somewhere to shower after she taught me how to be a man.”

I think of Eliza and Nathan together. It’s so wrong. My heart feels like it stops.

“How old?” I whisper.

He shakes his head dismissively. “Old enough to know it wasn’t right. Not old enough to fight her off.”

Empathy floods my body. And sadness. He never had a chance. No wonder he is a monster. They made him like this. They made him a weapon, and then they used him.

“They should have burned for what they did to you,” I say passionately.Desperately. “Nathan, it’s not too late to change things. I’m alive. Rome is alive. You could-”

Nathan puts a palm to my mouth, silencing me. “Shh, my love. Who says I want to change anything?” I blink back tears. He’s insane. He can’t be reasoned with. The brief sliver of hope that blossomed in my chest is crushed just as quickly as it dared to bloom.

“You shouldn’t feel sorry for me, Aves. The things I lived? They made me invincible.”

It made you a monster. I raise my hands to his head and his eyes flick upward, tracking the movement until I’ve got my fingers in his hair, touching him gently, so gently. “I do feel sorry for you, though” I say, and I mean it. “Nobody should have to grow up like that. Nobody should have to endure the things they did to you.”

Nathan steps back, his eyes moving over the rest of the room. “Invincible, Aves. Remember that.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

ROME

Being chainedto the wall was too good to be true.

I know. Fucked up, isn’t it? Fucked up is par for the course. Fucked up is the bare minimum. I got a new cell. How many days ago? Ten. Eleven. I had been counting but I lost count. I had been making drugs but I fucking lost count. Now it’s middle-of-the-night cook sessions that begin with ice water poured on my face and my shirt and end with a quick trip back to my new cell. I guess Tyler didn’t appreciate me flirting with his girl, so he moved me here, to this windowless cell barely big enough to fit a single bed and a bucket to piss in.

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