Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Isn’t that the foundation of our relationship? I knew he was a madman before all this. I saw the skeletons and got over it. I watched him kill my old boss and moved on.
Why does this feel different?
I think it’s two things.
Instead of lurking, he could’ve just been with me. We could’ve spent so much more time together. He chose to hide in the walls like a horny ghoul instead of just being my husband.
But the bigger issue is the way he reacted when I confronted him about it earlier.
He didn’t lie, but he also didn’t tell me the truth. It skated way too close to dishonesty and I’m having trouble getting past that.
I can handle murder, but lying?
I get it, things with his aunt are moving fast and he was distracted.
But still.
He told me to stay out of those passages—while he was creeping around them as much as he wanted.
There’s something hypocritical about that and it pisses me off.
I just want a relationship with my husband.
A normal, regular-ass relationship.
One that doesn’t involve decomposing bodies and scrubbing blood from carpets.
Except it’s pretty clear that isn’t going to happen.
This family is littered with secrets.
He can say I’m not being haunted all he wants—but there are ghosts all over this house. Some are still waiting for me to find them.
Chapter 37
Arsen
The war grinds to a halt.
It’s an uncomfortable truce. Baltimore feels like it’s about to explode at any second. More than once over the next week, I have to put out a fire when some of my younger and stupider soldiers nearly broke the agreement and reignited the fighting.
Everyone’s on edge. I want to get this fucking deal done and so do all my captains and lieutenants.
Everyone except for Garen.
The old prick’s acting like this is no big deal. Every time we meet to discuss terms, he comes up with some fucking excuse to drag things out.
And to make it all worse, Lena’s avoiding me.
She’s not running away every time I see her, but it’s like she’s hiding in plain sight.
There’s no spark. No excitement.
And she’s sleeping in the fucking guest room.
It’s driving me crazy, but I can tell she needs some space. I won’t force her into anything she doesn’t want to do, but I wish she could understand.
I care about her.
Way more than is fucking healthy.
I was watching her in the walls because I had to be near her, but I didn’t want to suffocate her either. She’s the kind of woman that needs a little space and freedom to thrive.
And it felt like she was growing and blossoming, at least until lately.
Now she’s pulling into herself, and it’s stressing me the fuck out.
But as the clock runs out, the war takes precedent.
The back room of the Brotherhood-owned laundromat smells like chemicals and cleaning solvents. Huge, industrial cleaners hum and groan as clothes spin around and around in the fancy mixtures. Pants hang in neat rows, and suits are draped in plastic. Six men sit around a table groaning under the weight of alcohol bottles and decent cheese.
Tigran’s scowling at everyone. The uncles are acting like nothing’s going on, but there’s an ugly undercurrent to the whole proceedings. I smile and nod and talk as if nothing’s going on, but we all know we’re pretending. We all know what’s happening here.
Uncle Narek’s the one to finally broach the subject. He lights a cigar and grips it between his hairy knuckles. I’m thinking smoking around dry-cleaned clothes is probably a bad idea, but it’s not my problem.
“At the start of all this, we gave you a month to figure it out.” Narek’s staring at me with that almost amused smile of his. He’s good at making it seem like this is no big deal. “And now, that month is over.”
“We wanted more,” Uncle Levon says. The wiry fucker crosses his arms.
Sevan and Razmik exchange looks with each other, but they’re cousins and not ranked high enough to have a fucking opinion right now.
“We delivered,” Tigran says. He leans forward. “We have Aunt Sona. Garen’s in the process of negotiating. The ceasefire holds.”
“Ceasefire is not a truce.” Narek gestures with his cigar. “We wanted the war to be fucking over, like it was supposed to be before Arsen here decided to marry some random fucking Russian girl.”
My hands curl against the table. “You will be respectful of my wife,” I say with a dagger edge.
Narek’s lips curl. He’s about to say something that will get him killed, but clearly thinks better of it and deflates.
“We gave you clear instructions,” Levon says, swirling a bottle of beer in a slow circle. “You accepted our offer.”
“I ended the war.” I meet his gaze coolly.
“You set up a ceasefire. It’s not the same thing.”
“We’re going to argue fucking semantics?” Tigran asks, sounding angry. “That’s why you brought us here.”