A Mafia Royals Romance

Claire

He was quiet; maybe he wasn’t trying to wake me, or maybe he was just naturally that quiet. Maybe he had to be because of who he was, what he did. I watched as he walked into the master bedroom and then moved into the bathroom. The door was open enough for me to see a reflection of him in the mirror.

I covered my mouth in horror as he turned on the water.

Blood was everywhere.

Splatters of it on his cheeks.

More down his arms.

He peeled his shirt from his body.

I sucked in a sharp breath; the guy had such a sexy body that it was distracting, which I needed. I needed a distraction.

Blood.

I almost gagged when he started washing his hands, staining the porcelain sink. Is this what I’d just agreed to?

He’d made it sound… adventurous, dangerous, but so normal.

But I hadn’t seen death, had I?

Death to him was normal.

Washing blood off his hands was just another Tuesday.

My body started to shake as he continued to wash his hands. Maybe it was a nightmare. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me?

I quietly got out of bed and moved toward the bathroom, leaning against the wall so I could watch. Maybe if I just watched longer I would stop shaking; it would seem normal.

It looked like food coloring.

His blue eyes slowly lifted, locking with mine in the reflection of the mirror.

“I heard a noise,” I whispered in a hoarse voice.

His eyes looked wild.

I’d never seen that look on another human before.

I started to back up as he slowly turned off the water and then turned, making his way for me. I made it maybe a foot before his wet hands were on my shirt, touching my skin.

Trembling, I waited for him to say something else.

And then he cupped my chin with his right hand; I could smell blood on him; death lingered in the air. “Are you afraid?”

I gulped. “Yes.”

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “It’s just me.”

“All the blood.” I couldn’t get the shaking out of my voice. His eyes didn’t soften; if anything, something else sparked in them—something… that felt evil and wrong—so wrong.

“That’s a natural occurrence when you shoot someone, Claire.”

I gasped. “You shot someone?”

“It’s my job,” was what he said through clenched teeth. “I told you what this life was about, you swore your fealty to me, to the family, to this.” He spread his arms wide. “And now you tell me you’re scared? That you can’t handle it? That you can’t handle me?”

He was shaking.

Oh God, was this normal?

“Asher—” I reached for him “—what’s wrong?”

“Bring me back,” he rasped. “Please…” He tugged at his hair; his eyes looked crazed. “Bring me back, I can’t feel—anything.” His teeth started to chatter, and then he turned on his heel and ran his fist right into the wall, over and over again. I could hear bone breaking as blood splattered all over him, all over me.

Petrified, I reached for him; my mouth clanged against his, and then we were a tangle of limbs as he held me with his good hand while blood dripped between our bodies. He pressed me against the damaged wall, pinning me there with his mouth and his massive body as it shook against mine. I coaxed him, kissed him softly. His breathing was erratic, his pulse the same. He deepened the kiss and then pulled back, his eyes calmer, his focus centered on me. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on?”

“I need you.” His voice was pleading. “So fucking much right now. I need you.” He gritted his teeth and stared down at his bloody hand. “There isn’t an escape. The more I do this, the more I lose myself. My soul isn’t there anymore; it’s barely existing. I don’t know how to find myself anymore.”

I held onto him for dear life, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

Wondering how I was supposed to survive if he was already half dead, half gone.

“I killed my cousin.” Asher’s eyes saddened. “And I have a sick feeling I’m going to have to do it again.” He bit down on his lower lip.

“What do you mean?”

“We all have jobs.” His voice was low, dangerous.

I was almost afraid to ask. “What’s yours?”

“I’m the executioner.”

Stunned, I just stared at him in complete horror and shock—my mind reeling. “So, if I ran, after all of this?”

His nostrils flared. “Please don’t do that to me, to us.”

“Would you?” It was my turn to be hysterical. “Asher?”

“We all have jobs.” He repeated. “You should go back to sleep.”

“And dream of what? You chasing me down with a gun?”

“Please.” He begged. “Not tonight. Just stay, let me hold you.”

“You just admitted you would murder me!”

“Claire, you don’t understand, if I didn’t—someone else would. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There is no escape for us. And because I wanted you—I damned you too. What the fuck did I just do?” He tore at his hair again and then pulled away from me. “I’m going to go sleep on the couch.”

“Asher, wait—”

“—I do love you,” he said in a sad voice. “But not enough to leave you alone... maybe I do take after my dad in more ways than one because he was never willing to sacrifice everything for the girl he fell for—and it seems... history has no choice but to fuck with us over and over again.”

He slammed the door behind him, leaving me paralyzed in place.

Rooted to the floor while fresh tears streaked down my face.

What just happened?