36. Ash

Chapter Thirty-Six

ASH

I had never been to a funeral.

I imagined them to be sombre and heavy, thick with thoughts and emotions. An atmosphere much like the one guiding down the hall, charioting me towards my own inevitable funeral.

Gloomy silence was a dense shroud around us; even our footsteps were swallowed by the thick, plush carpets of the hotel as we were led deeper. The further we walked; the more scattered people became until not even ghosts glided amongst us.

I stared down at the soft red carpet beneath my shoes, the colour reminding me of poppy fields that had sprung up in no man’s zone at the end of the First World War. The same fields were cursed to be burnt to ash, as the Second War was declared little more than two decades later.

Perhaps this was my own war. The first I had survived, dragged from the depths of hell, not by my own strength but of another far stronger than I could ever be. By someone who found light in me where I had only seen darkness.

Now I was walking back into that darkness. My fire was no roaring inferno of revenge or fury. It was warm and licked at the shadows skittering along the edges, neither pushing them back nor letting them closer. It was strong, but I feared perhaps not strong enough.

Lamb squeezed my hand tight. He had been a wall at my side, stone-cold and rigid as we had left the hall. His fingers were a scalding warmth around my own, his stiff posture betraying none of the anxiety and spiralling fear building in me with each step deeper into the myriad hotel. In fact, he seemed perfectly calm as we walked into the den of the cruellest, coldest man known in existence, as if he was leisurely enjoying the art and paintings lined along the walls.

A small pang of jealousy raised its head.

I would be getting a bionic brain the second I was able to.

The employee turned a sharp corner, and as we followed, two large ivory doors with delicate carving and real gold-plated ornate letters stood tall and opulent at the end of the hallway. It screamed ostentatious, and though there had been no direct elevator arrival as with Lamb’s, a penthouse needed no introduction.

Nor who would be waiting beyond it.

I could feel it now—the tremble in my legs, the iron cage around my lungs, and the dredging sickness in my stomach. My breath caught on my lips, my hand wringing into the sides of my dress.

Dragging us close enough, the employee stopped a few feet from the doors. He made no motion to knock, nor announce our arrival. Instead, he turned to us, glanced at me, and politely nodded at Lamb before turning on his heels and walking briskly away.

We were alone.

The reality that on the other side of those doors stood the horrendous hell I had run, clawed, and hidden myself from was too heavy a thought to bear.

Cowardice screamed within me. We had an opportunity, a chance. We could turn, and leave, and burn this horrendous plan to ash. Go back on the run, get as far away from here as possible. Be safe.

But would I?

I had spent a long time running. I had gone far. I had hidden in the darkest places and vanquished any trace of my existence. Never once had I ever felt truly safe.

There would be no more running.

No more hiding.

I was done.

Lamb, waiting patiently for my mind to go through the motions, looked down at me. Those sweet brown eyes were sharp and clear, but something else danced behind them. Something strange and new, something so tangled and blurred that I could not quite make out what it was or where it belonged.

“Do you trust me?” Lamb breathed, his hand tightening around my own.

I remembered our moments. In the few short weeks that we had spent together, and through all manner of insane, and crazy, and psychotic things we had done to each other, we had entwined ourselves into tight knots. It was clumsy and messy, but somehow untangling ourselves now would be an impossible task.

I opened my mouth, the truth poised on the tip of my tongue. But then I caught that small glint again, fluttering across his eyes.

“No,” I whispered, the lie pulled from between my teeth.

Lamb smiled, his shoulders softening with relief that curdled in my chest. “Good.”

He lifted his hand, ready to rasp his knuckles against the ivory wood.

They didn’t connect before the white doors pulled away and a man affixed with a deep scowl, dressed head to toe in a black suit, filled the void. His dark eyes ran down my figure and Lamb’s once before stepping aside and pressing a finger to a small earpiece.

“Alexandra Rothwell and Christopher Black have arrived.”

My birthname felt cold and foreign. It had been so long since I had heard it, in the same territory as it had been given to me. Now, it belonged to a stranger.

Alexandria was a girl who knew nothing. Wanted nothing. Learned nothing. Not a single scar, or blemish, or flaw in her appearance. The perfect ghost.

I was no longer her. Nor would I ever be.

“My name is Ash ,” I snapped at the guard with more bravado than I owned as I pushed past him.

Lamb remained hot at my side, his warmth like a bubble trying to inch through the radiating frost seeping from my skin. Though I wished to be fuelled with fire and vengeance, it was ice and fear that gripped my heart as I stepped over the threshold and into the enemy’s domain.

The grumpy hire’s lip lifted at my retort but gave none of his own as he closed the door behind us and folded over his arms, returning to an unnerving, unnatural stillness blocking our escape from the suite.

Suite was a stretch, I realised as I was overpowered with grandeur and flamboyance.

Hidden within the historic hotel, the room was more of a luxury townhouse. The first room opened with a spiral staircase with white marble and ivory-encrusted stairs leading up to a second floor out of view. Different statues, busts, and ornaments sat on pillars behind similar glass cases as the ones filling the charity ball downstairs.

A few other ornate doors led off to the sides of the room, but just the expanse of the entryway and the big glass windows, veiled by the night sky, was more than enough to feel dwarfed in its presence.

It was a room fit for a royal. Or someone who considered himself such.

Just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard the first tap. The knock of the cane against the marble staircase had my thoughts about the room running scarce. My fingertips turned blue, my feet grew heavy, and my chest tight.

That noise. That dreadful, hollowing noise sent me back to the past. Far from reality, that noise echoed in the depths of my memories, in the dark of my dreams, and in my shadows every step I took. It was not always loud, but it was there, lurking behind every breath.

The noise announced his arrival and, for the first time in two years, since he had shot six lead bullets into my body and left me for dead, I laid my eyes on him.

My father.

My contacts kept his visage crystal clear. To any other person, he might have looked as frail, weak, and weary as any ageing man might if they had stolen the same number of years he had. He had been old when I had first met him, and though he had changed little, I knew I had been born past his prime.

But even an old, decrepit shell could not conceal the hunting spots he harboured, the marks of a predator.

“My dearest daughter,” my father crooned, descending the staircase one slow step at a time. “You have return to your father’s … embrace .” That meticulous gaze lowered onto me, razing down from my head to my toes, pausing ever so slightly over my exposed scars.

My confidence was shattered. Whatever I had gained from displaying my weakness and vulnerability to the world now withered. I felt exposed and defenceless; the urge to cover my scars coiled tight in my chest.

I held myself firm, not out of pride or stubbornness but the sheer fear that even the smallest motion would cause my body to crack.

With a half-hearted shrug at my ignorance, he ambled the last few steps off the marble staircase and hobbled towards me. He was a short man; his bowing spine and the natural height decline that came with age put his head near my shoulder.

He was tailored from the tips of his toes to the greying locks on his head. His cuffs were undone, and his black bow tie was draped around his collar, having been caught mid-dress. At least my arrival had been something of a surprise to him.

His dark, haunting eyes glazed over me, to the one behind me, the one blazing a maelstrom at my back. My father flashed a sharp businessman smile, easy, charming. “I suppose I should have you to thank for that.”

“Your offer was hard to refuse,” Lamb quipped, his voice hard and tight.

“Offer?” I frowned, the word soft on my lips, but my father did not even spare me a glance.

“You are quite the shrewd businessman.” My father, with near praise in his tone, appraised Lamb once more. “Though it is rather heartless to buy a girl’s heart if you had no plans to keep it.”

I spun, my eyes leaving my father’s threatening visage to Lamb’s.

“Lamb,” I breathed, the noise strung through a tight throat. “What does he mean?” That roaring blaze that had warmed my back had vanished. Instead, the body braced to fight had been locked down.

Stone shuttered over his face, his emotions vanished, and his eyes were ice-cold as he did not even bother to look at me.

Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong.

“Everybody has a price, dear daughter,” my father said. “Even your precious hero.”

“ Lamb ,” I snapped, my voice torn and loud, pleading as I reached for his sleeve, my fingers burying into the material as something deep inside started to unfurl; something dark and formless in my middle. “What is he talking about?”

He looked at me.

For the first time since we walked in, he looked at me.

I had expected that icy gaze. That stone-hardness. The nothingness that walled him off from reality. The lies.

I had not expected pain .

It slammed into me like a train, the horrible storm of raging emotion and suffering swirling in those deep brown eyes. His face betrayed nothing, but I could feel it take my breath and wrought my soul to shreds as reality dragged me to my knees. Because I knew.

I knew what this man had become. Knew how he had evolved, and changed, and grown. Knew that if everything had been a lie, it would not destroy him like it was.

This was the truth.

Lamb had betrayed me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the strangled voice barely a murmur in the empty silence.

“Honestly, I do not have much use for her.” My father’s voice cut mercilessly through the air, bogged down with pieces of my world crumbling around me. “But if you are that attached, I would have given you a little longer with the thing to do with it what you will.”

“No.” Lamb wrenched his eyes from mine, and yet the pain did not stop. Its grip fastened into my spirit, nails digging so tight into my heart that I struggled to breathe. Yet, I did not move. I could not.

“Just leave my club alone,” Lamb growled. “That is all I want.”

Oh.

Oh.

I could hear it ringing in my ears. Even if he loved me, even if he cared. There was one rule above all for Lamb. One rule that was the basis of his being. Above any love or loyalty. Above any friendship or honour.

Club before all.

“A deal is a deal.” My father shrugged, raising his hand back towards the door. A dismissal.

I did not see Lamb’s gaze again. Not even a glance, or even a flicker in my direction. He pulled loose his sleeve from my fingers, plucking the material from between my fastened grasp. He turned on his heels and headed back towards the door.

I was suspended, watching his back, his warmth seeping from my soul as that thick and choking darkness uncurled and festered deeper inside. It seeped into my fingers, toes, eyes, and tongue as even the scent of his woodsy cologne faded from my senses and only a charcoal bitterness remained.

The man in black opened the door, and I watched, unable to look away, as Lamb stepped out, not faltering a single step. The man in black followed in tow and shut the door behind them. He was gone.

I was alone.

“I like him,” my father interjected, drawing back my attention.

I could still feel my lungs swelling, my heart bleeding into an endless empty ocean in my middle. It was there. It was happening. I was drowning.

“Forgive my attire,” he said, misunderstanding my rigid gaze. “I heard you had arrived and … well, I could not contain myself.”

“You can forget the fake chatter,” I hissed, my voice much stronger than I felt. “I cannot stand it.”

I wondered how I looked to him. Confident like I had hoped? Or weak like I felt?

“Very well.” He nodded, dark grey eyes narrowing on my face. The smell of aged whiskey and recently snubbed cigars wafted from him. The scent roiled in my stomach. “It seems you did not inherit my silver tongue … among other things.” He turned up his lip, wrinkles protruding from deep ravines in his face. Disgust was a familiar emotion to him. I was not surprised.

“Your time galivanting in the outside world has not rounded you as I had hoped it would.” He shrugged. “You still seem in the same rough shape I had cast aside not so long ago.”

“Murdered.” I bit through clenched teeth. “You did not cast me aside . You murdered me.”

“Unsuccessfully,” he mused as if we were discussing nothing more than an article in the newspaper. His eyes once again roamed my body, lingering longer on my scars. “Despite my best efforts, your resistance to death seems to be treating you well. Excessively so.”

Blood swelled in my mouth.

“So, tell me, Alexandria,” my father droned, turning and settling on the plush Sherlock chair in the centre of the room. A glass drink’s trolley held a half-full crystal decanter of port and a matching ashtray with a full cigar. “After crawling out of the grave, why have you come here of all places? Surely, you would be better suited to fleeing away to the far reaches of this earth?”

“You know that would do no good.” Pain flashed across my palms as my fingers curled into tight fists at my side. Fury from the depths of my soul burned charcoal black from his casual, relaxed tone. Did he not know why I was here? Or did he not care? “Catching me was only a matter of when.”

“You give yourself too much credit.” My father sighed, perusing his used cigar and warming drink. “The only reason you have had so long is because it was not worth my while to chase you down.” He picked up the crystal glass, wrinkled, freckled fingers spread along the rim, and rose again. He abandoned the cane at the side of the chair, his weary legs standing straight and firm as he swirled the liquid around in the glass. “Taking care of you was an opportunity. I was in the States for a work matter, and you just so happened to scamper across my path. I was tying off a loose end.”

My body ached, and my scars singed. I could feel those lead bullets wriggling deeper into my body, pain and anger wrought apart my flesh and bones. “You tried to kill me because it was convenient? ”

He sighed. “I will not repeat myself.” He moved over to the tall plant and stood aside in the hallway, shoes scuffing against the marble floor, but his footsteps were otherwise strong and stable. He reached out a free hand, caressing one of the feathery leaves. It was a large palm with beautiful bountiful stalks, their tips tall enough to brush his shoulder. “I just get rid of things that have lost their value.” He tilted his hand, the warm whiskey pouring from the glass and sinking into the soil. “Your mother, your stepmother, that little bicycle gang of yours. You .” He released the glass. It landed with a resounding shatter, pieces of expensive crystal exploding across the floor in tiny, jagged fragments.

I started at the noise, my feet staggering back to avoid the cutting crystal embedding into my shoes. A flicker of a smirk pulled at his lips.

“Then why?” I snapped, my voice much calmer than the tornado wreaking havoc on the inside. I stared down at the shattered shards, the epitome of my life, falling apart into a million pieces, never again to be whole, broken and worthless at the behest of this man’s whim. “Why did you come?”

Glass crunched under my feet as an unstoppable tsunami of anger, pain, and sorrow surged me towards him. My hands tore at my dress, ripped at the edges of my scars, alight with pain as fresh as the day he had made them, red and shiny beneath his bonified crystal chandelier.

“Like I said—”

“No,” I snapped, wrenching his words from his tongue. “I do not mean the day you shot me. I meant that day. The day she tried to kill me. The day you put a knife in her hand and left me to die.”

His dark eyes narrowed, his head craning up a few inches to look at me. His presence far exceeded his actual height and, in front of me, the man was no taller than my chin. Crow’s feet bunched in the corners of his eyes, shadowed beneath sunken brows.

“I know you,” I seethed. “I was a little girl, desperate for her father’s attention. I know the sound of your footsteps, the engine of your car, and even the rhythm of your breaths. You are a fool if you think I would not recognise your voice.”

My heartbeat pounded on my eardrums as I struggled to catch my breath. I refused to look away from those cold, dead eyes as silence stretched between us. My fury, now released, was unable to be contained. Too long had I cowered before this man. This monster. If today was my last, I would drag my answers to hell with me.

He laughed.

It was like an icy slap across the face. My retreat was instinctual, the shock of the crisp, cackling sound so foreign and fragmented from my mind I could only full body reject it. I had never known this man to have a soul, never mind a sense of humour.

“That is all?” He heaved a breath, stifling a cough behind the back of his knobbly hand. “You are right. You are a little girl. One much like the stepmother you despised so much.”

He sighed as the noise died once more. “It was merely a coincidence.” He shrugged. “Your stepmother dragged you to a factory I had in mind for acquisition. In hindsight, she had probably hoped I would catch you both there, dreaming for some emotional reaction, I assume.” He spat the word as if it tasted as unfamiliar. “I came for a prospective visit since I had been nearby for some other business matters, and when I found you both, well, I just wanted her to hurry up and be done with it.”

“So, you gave her the knife.”

“Slow torture is messy. Better to end it quickly.” His eyes scoured down to my scars, and my stomach roiled. “Besides, if she killed you and got herself arrested, then it would be two birds with one stone.” He shrugged. “Though it ended up being the other way around. You are quite difficult to kill.” His tone almost held an imperceptible hint of admiration.

“And it was all … just a coincidence?” I couldn’t believe the words I had just muttered. Flames rose in my chest, and my heart turned to coal, the weight of it crushing me from within.

“In a matter of speaking.” He shrugged.

That could not be it. It cannot . All of it, every single struggle of my life, my need to survive, my need to escape my father … it was all a lie? Like sugar paper in water, my truth dissolved before my eyes, nothing but a bitter toxin left behind.

My father only spared the time to try to kill me himself because he was nearby. His only daughter. His sole heir.

What did my vengeance mean now? What did it matter? All of this … was for nothing …

“I think I have spared you enough of my time,” Maximus muttered, straightening his gown. “I need to finish getting dressed and finish this facade of a charity ball so I can get on with some real business. I cannot keep my new business partners waiting longer than necessary.” He did not spare me a glimpse as he turned and walked towards the staircase.

“To what end …?” I struggled through the words, my chest threatening to cave in on itself. “To what extent will you let your greed win? How many bodies must you climb to reach your goal?”

He hummed, his shoulder rolling in a small shrug. “I guess I have never thought about it.” He half-turned, his eyes staring into the distance with the first glimmer of interest I had ever seen in them. “There is always something new to take, something new to acquire. Until I have it all in my grasp, there will be no end. Not in my lifetime, and certainly not in yours.”

No end …?

“What about me ?” I whispered, voice weak, hand clutching my chest. “Will there be no end to this either?”

My father turned, and my head hung from my shoulders. I stared at his slippers, eyes focused on the million tiny pieces of glittering, broken, and destroyed crystal.

“You want me to kill you?” His deep, familiar voice swam in my ears. The voice I had craved for so long as a child. This voice I wished would speak words of affection and familiarity. The voice that had haunted me every moment of my adult life. “You are unworthy of my time.”

Enough .

The small, tiny click of the safety echoed in my ears.

My father sighed, turning his head over his shoulder. Disappointment was an interesting look on his face. The first, and possibly only, emotion I had ever seen from him. Would ever see.

“Am I worth your time now?” I laughed, the humour bubbling and nauseating in my throat as I aimed the small compact revolver at his head. It was a pure white ivory handle, and the chamber was carved with intricate, beautiful depictions of a bird taking flight in gold etching. Charon’s gift was stunning. But it was small. It barely had a few shots packed into it.

“I must say, Alexandria, I took you for a dying dog all these years,” he mused, allowing a smirk to flash on his usually stoic face. “I am surprised you know how to bark but , more importantly, are you sure you can bite? ”

Maximus turned to me, his chest puffed and shoulders wide as his smirk grew into a more deranged smile as, for the first time in my life, his entire attention was on me. He was not looking over me or through me. He was looking at me. Despite all my wishes and dreams as a child, it made me sick to my stomach.

“I hate you,” I growled. “I hate you so much. You showed me endless cruelty through your indifference. You see people as nothing more than tools. You should never have allowed me to be born.”

“ Alexandria .” My father stepped forwards, a piece of glass grinding beneath his slipper. “If you aim a gun at someone, you better be willing to shoot it.”

“My name,” I growled, staring him dead in the eye as my finger slipped over the trigger, “is Ash .”

BANG.

Pieces of ornate China crumbled to the floor, tangles of feathery limbs coming undone as the palm collapsed into a pile of dirt and dust.

Maximus laughed, the noise echoing off the tall walls as he looked down at the plant before him. It did not last. It soured into a bitter, angry frown.

“I was wrong. You have no teeth,” he spat, and despite my rage and pain, I still felt those words. They twisted in my stomach, and it only hurt more to know it affected me. “Your stepmother did a better job on you than I had thought. Tell me, child.” Maxwell grimaced, his energy sinking as he took a step backwards. “What is the range of your sight now?”

“Stay still!” I hissed, my fingers fumbling to aim the gun.

“Fifty feet, is it?” he mused, taking another long step backwards. And another.

“Stop!” I hissed, stepping forwards to follow him. My foot slid on a mix of glass and leaves, and I struggled to hold my balance as I trained the gun on him.

I do not have time.

“Sixty?” He stood beside the table and chair, and his hand leaned towards his cane. The visage was blurry, but I could still make out his form. My contacts were struggling, and my hands were shaking with adrenaline as I fought to steady myself once more.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

“INTERPOL! OPEN UP!” bellowed from behind the door as something heavy and loud slammed into the two ivory doors behind me.

The noise was enough of a distraction. My eyes moved a fraction, and Maximus lunged for his cane.

His hands wrapped around his thin neck as I heard the doors open behind me.

I was out of time.

I lifted my pistol as my father lifted his cane, and I glimpsed it—the barrel hiding within its long length. It was a concealed gun.

He raised the cane with ease, and I knew, if he pulled the trigger, he would make the shot.

Time moved slowly as door debris and glass shattered through the air and, for the last time, I stared into those cold dead eyes. Full icy merciless determination, ready to kill me for the last and final time. This was it. This was the end.

I closed my eyes and tightened my finger over the trigger.

At long last, everything was over.

I was free.