All He’ll Ever Be (Merciless World Series Book 1)
All He’ll Ever Be: Merciless – Chapter 17

Stephan. Alexander Stephan.

It’s his name screamed. He’s who terrorizes her in her sleep. I know it is.

I’ve listened to it over and over again, each time the anger intensifying.

Last night she screamed his name.

All these nights I thought it was me causing the terrors. I thought she hated me and that she truly dreaded what I could do to her.

I’ve never been so fucking wrong in my life.

The door to her cell opens with a small creak, but it cries out loud in my ears as Aria’s bloodshot eyes stare back at me.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask her, leaving the door open and walking with evenly paced and deliberate steps to the side of her bed.

She looks so frail beneath me. Barely eating and not sleeping for more than a few hours for over a week will take its toll on anyone. She doesn’t answer me. Her eyes follow me though.

“I won’t kneel,” she says weakly.

“I didn’t come for that.”

Her brow scrunches and she nearly questions me. She knows she’s disobeying, still fighting a losing battle, but my guard is down. It almost makes me smile.

“I asked for pills to sleep,” she says, and her pleas are desperate. But I had to know more. There would be no pills to take it away when she wouldn’t share it with me. How else would I have found out? It’s her stubbornness that will make her suffer.

“I want to know how you know Alexander Stephan.” Even though my words come out softly, meant to be gentle, she pales in front of me and I can see the chill spread over her body as she backs away from me.

There’s only so far she can run in here and I’m tempted to grab her and force her to answer me, but I already know everything I need.

I was stupid to think I knew everything there was to know about Aria. I didn’t consider anything other than who she was five years ago. I didn’t consider the past that made her into that girl.

I knew her mother was murdered by a now-associate of the Romanos years before our family existed in this reality. At the time, he was the right-hand man to Talvery. Betrayal is thick in this business. Her mother’s murder is what started the feud years ago, but it’s been quiet for over a decade. No one’s made a move since the unsuccessful retaliation on Talvery’s part. Each side was simply maneuvering pieces and has been waiting for the other to strike since then.

My blunt fingernails dig into my palm as I resist touching Aria. Her back is pressed against the wall and she gathers the covers closer to her chest as if she has hope that they could save her.

But there’s nothing that can save you from your past.

When she finally speaks, it’s anger that threatens to come out in her voice. “Don’t give me to him, please.”

Anger sparks through me. This girl has a way of igniting it within me like no one else.

“You belong to me.” The simple words gritted between my clenched teeth make her stiffen, but her eyes show a different response. Hope, maybe.

“Any man who thinks they can lay a hand on you will die at mine. Is that clear?”

Her eyes search mine for sincerity, even as she nods her head. “I told you, you belong to me.”

The shift in her demeanor is slight. The heavier breaths, the gentle relaxation in her shoulders, and the defiance that begs to come out in the gorgeous blend of greens in her stare.

“Who is he to you?” I ask her again and watch as the cords in her slender neck tighten when she swallows.

“He killed my mother.” She doesn’t show much emotion; she tries to hide it, to appear devoid of it. But sadness and fear emanate from her voice.

I consider what to ask her next, but I don’t want her to know what I know. If she doesn’t already, she wouldn’t believe me.

“Tell me more,” I decide to command her, rather than asking for specifics.

She brushes the hair from her face and as she does, the blanket falls from her chest. It’s only then I notice she’s finally changed clothes. The thin, pale blush cotton shirt complements her complexion. Her fingers wrap around the cuffs of her sleeves as she pulls her knees to her chest.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” she says simply, and then rests her cheek on her knees and looks up at me. The air is different between us. The tension of the game we’ve been playing isn’t here and so I scoot closer to her, wondering how she’ll react.

And she does. My little songbird.

She keeps the space between us, shifting to the other side of the bed and straightening her shoulders to keep her eyes on me.

The corners of my lips kick up into a half grin.

“Even now?” I ask her and the defensiveness fades, but she doesn’t answer.

A moment passes, and then another. Finally, she looks toward the open door. It’s the first time she’s done it this morning; usually her gaze flickers to it constantly.

“You screamed his name last night,” I tell her and when she looks back at me, I know she’s not breathing.

“I’d like to know why,” I say to finish my thought.

She swallows visibly and again pulls her knees to her chest. As she does, I inch closer. Only one. Although she stares at my hand, lying flat on the mattress and closer to her, she doesn’t move away.

“I was there when he did it.”

“You saw her die?”

She nods. “I was hiding. I was only playing.” She shakes her head and I inch forward again, beckoning her for more. But nothing comes.

“What aren’t you telling me?” My question comes out as a demand and that’s when the defiance returns and the girl I’m used to seeing returns.

Her dry lips part but after several moments, she never says a word. I stand up, pushing off the thin bed and making her sway with the dip in the mattress.

“I don’t like hearing you scream,” I confide in her and I’m met with silence.

I turn to look over my shoulder and see her soft eyes staring at me, brimming with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes to me and I replace it hard to swallow as she turns her gaze from me to the blanket.

This is moving too slowly. Far too slowly. She’s close to breaking and for both our sakes, I have to push her. I will not let her move backward. We’re so close, and time never stops its ticking.

With that in mind, I reach down and take her blanket from her. She stares up at me like a scared child and I have to push out my words, although they come out with the control and power I always have. “You need to bathe. I don’t trust you. So you’ll have to trust me.”