Ruin (Rhodes #1) - Rina Kent Page 0,75

going there. I won’t blame myself for his craziness. It’s not my fault. I’m the victim here.

But is Aaron a victim too? He certainly wouldn’t have been the same if he was raised by a loving family or at least parents who didn’t use him for their own benefits. Both Arthur and Eva never put their son’s needs before their own. He was collateral damage. If they fought, they only did it for themselves. None of them tried to understand a child’s feelings.

I hope they’re both dead. Aaron doesn’t need those people in his life.

Ugh. Dammit. I read the journal to fuel my hate and find a way to bring Aaron down, but here I am inflaming my overflowing sympathy for him.

I need to talk to him. What if he has an explanation for his murder attempt? After all, it was the first time he’s got physically violent with me.

This time I’ll get some answers, I won’t let him shut me down like every other time.

I jump out of bed and scurry out of the room. Is he in his bedroom? I tap on his closed door, my voice tentative. “Aaron, are you in there?”

No answer.

“Open up! We need to talk.”

The damn bastard. How dare he ignore me after what he’s done? I kick at the hard wooden door, ignoring the stinging in my toes. “Hey! Come— “

A loud bang outside pulls my attention. It sounded like a gunshot. Aaron mentioned hunting before. Is he doing that?

I inch to the window at the end of the hallway. Blood freezes in my veins.

Down in the field, a woman in black clothes lies in the midst of a small pool of blood. That’s not what locks my muscles and forbids my lungs from functioning. It’s Aaron lying not far from her. Blood gushes out of his mouth and chest, soaking his T-shirt, dyeing the stony pavement red. Aaron’s face is pale, no life in his limbs. No twitch in his fluttered eyes. Just blood. Everywhere.

Is he dead?

He can’t be dead. He... can’t.

“Aaron!” My strangled shout pierces my ears, but I call his name over and over, as if the sheer force of my scream can bring him back to life. I bang my palms on the ice cold glass. I hit it, hard until my hands sting. The damn thing doesn’t break. Nor does Aaron show any sign of life.

Salt saturates my mouth. I choke on my now-hoarse shouts. My legs buckle, I slip to the ground, pulling my knees to my chin. Every breath I take digs nails into my ribcage. Invisible hands reach to squeeze my heart.

Aaron’s dead.

My kidnapper’s dead. I’m free. This is the part where I should jump from joy. Yet, more raw sobs escape my lips. My body gets swallowed in an intense storm, drowning in the loss of oxygen. I hug my waist and stroke my arm. This is way worse than my panic attacks.

This isn’t the freedom I want. I was supposed to talk with Aaron, not witness his blood-stained corpse.

Someone wake me up from this nightmare.

Time passes and I sit there until my limbs sour, too scared to look from the window and realise this could be a reality, not a nightmare.

A finger taps on my knee, my heart bumps a violent stream of blood as if resurrected. Am I being awoken now?

I crane my head up. My stomach sinks at the face that greets me. The hair and eyes are similar, but he’s not Aaron.

Tristan stares at me, head tilted to the side, brows furrowed. “Who are you?”

“Aaron... help him.” Is that hoarse whisper mine?

He studies me, the lines of his face undecipherable. “I asked you a question, I expect an answer.”

“Help him first, then I’ll tell you.” My voice rises. Bastard. Isn’t he supposed to help his brother? Unless... Aaron’s really dead. I lock eyes with Tristan, and murmur, “Please.”

His pointy gaze pierces me as if attempting to dissect my soul. “He’s undergoing surgery. Now tell me who are you and how do you know Aaron.”

My lungs contract, receiving the oxygen they were denied.

He’s alive. Oh God, he’s alive.

Energy kicks into my limbs, I jump to my feet, and blurt. “Where is he? Can I see him?”

Tristan’s expression darkens. His voice comes out in a similar harsh lordliness as Aaron’s.