Destructive King Read online

  “You know…” He held out a giant knife and thumbed the blade, studying the point as a trickle of blood trailed down his thumb. “Most people do it wrong…”

  I froze. “You’re drunk, Ash. Let’s just get you some clothes—”

  “Fucking idiots.” His pupils were pinpoints as he looked at me over the blade of the knife. “They cut against the vein forgetting that you’re supposed to cut with it. But there’s other ways, Claire—other ways to join you…”

  He was out of his mind. My chest heaved with panic as I weighed my options. He was an expert at killing things, even drunk. I was a college nerd on scholarship who had zero hand-to-hand combat skills.

  Let alone against a proven killer.

  “Three seconds,” he rasped as he lowered the knife to the inside of his right thigh cutting the side like he was testing the sharpness of the knife. “Three seconds, and I’ll see you, sweetheart. Three seconds and you’ll be real again, three seconds, and we’ll be a family.” Tears streamed down his face. “That’s all, Claire. That’s all it would take.”

  The knife was so dangerously close to his femoral artery that I had no time to call Chase or the ambulance.

  No time but to figure out a way to save his life.

  No other way.

  “Don’t,” I whispered. “Ash, please… don’t.”

  “I have to.” He sobbed. “I have to!”

  “Please!” I choked on my tears. “Please don’t, Ash, please! Just stay, stay with me, right here, right now—hand me the knife.”

  “Three seconds, Claire.”

  “Ash, Claire would want you to live.”

  “I killed you…” He grabbed the blade with his other hand and squeezed as blood spurted all over the bathtub. “This may as well be your blood. You were my soul, and I spilled it, I spilled it all. I didn’t see, I didn’t—” The knife slipped out of his bloody hand.

  I lunged for it and barely grabbed it in time before he did; he was thankfully too slow.

  I threw the knife away from us; it clattered against the bathroom floor as I tripped against his legs as they dangled out of the tub.

  With a grunt, I fell on top of him.

  He held me there.

  Bleeding on me.

  Sobbing.

  His arms came around me. “You’re gone, you’re gone!”

  I squeezed my eyes shut as he held me close, and then he was kissing the back of my neck.

  “It’s Annie…” I moved away from him. “I’m not Claire—”

  “Claire…” He moaned. “Please…”

  “Ash,” I said it more firmly that time. “It’s Annie.”

  I finally broke free from him, but he was fast; he grabbed me again, this time shoving up from the bathtub and reaching for me, jerking me against his chest as he pressed a hungry kiss to my mouth.

  Every time I tried to pull away, he pulled me back.

  And then he was turning the shower on.

  My sweatshirt was coming off.

  Escape was futile.

  “Claire—”

  “Ash.” My heart cracked in half.

  He stole it then.

  He stomped on it.

  He wrecked it like he wrecked everything.

  And I let him because I was too afraid he’d kill himself.

  Too afraid that he’d snap.

  I’d always been too afraid.

  And half in love with a man who loved a ghost and would do anything to follow her into Heaven.

  “Until the sky falls…” he whispered as he kissed me again and again, so I said the only thing I could say back.

  The only thing I’d ever heard Claire repeat over and over again.

  “Until,” I whispered, “if the sky falls, Ash.”

  “You’re here…” He smiled for the first time. “Finally… finally…”

  A tear slid down my cheek and joined the blood, and whatever was left of my broken heart as I swore to take this to my grave.

  Right along with any feelings I’d ever had for Ash Abandonato.

  He may as well be dead.

  I may as well have let him do the digging.

  “Goodbye, Ash,” I whispered under my breath.

  This time I kissed him.

  This time I pulled him.

  This time I gave him what he’d been wanting since yelling into the dark night sky—Claire.

  I gave him Claire.

  Chapter One

  But our love was stronger by far than the love of those who were older than we—of the many far wiser than we—And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabelle Lee. —Edgar Allan Poe

  Ash

  Ten months later…

  Shit always hits the fan when the storm is calm.

  And I’d like to think that I was finally able to calm the hurricane inside—mostly. At least now I wasn’t suicidal.

  At least now, I wasn’t drinking my way through the day and hallucinating that Claire was an angel sent by Heaven to give me one last moment—one last time with her—closure.

  Glimpses of that night—those memories—haunted me on a daily basis. Had she really been there? Had I been that far gone that I’d seen her face? Felt her kiss?

  I’d woken up with the hangover from hell and puked my guts out most of the day. I literally had to go to Sergio, our resident doctor, and ask for an IV bag.

  Junior, my best friend, still refused to let me live that down the fact that I had walked around the pool house rolling an IV pole.

  Miserable.

  I’d been fucking miserable.

  And now?

  Now at least I didn’t want to slit my wrists every second of every day—nah, it was more like every other second.

  See? Progress!

  “This came for you.” Dad tossed a package onto my bed and leaned against the doorframe. “You know her plane lands in an hour.”

  “Yup.” I didn’t look up at him. I knew what I’d see.

  Disappointment.

  We weren’t at odds with each other anymore, but that didn’t mean my dad wasn’t still looking at me like I shit on the unicorn that was Annie Smith and sent her running away screaming.

  Mom was still pissed.

  Violet.

  Safe to say, my entire family wanted to burn me alive for fighting with her that next day.

  Again, I’d had a hangover.

  I wasn’t in the mood to talk about my feelings.

  She’d come over to check on me.

  Her eyes haunted.

  And the skin around her wrists slightly bruised.

  I still wore the scar from the cut I’d made against my skin—and still remembered waking up in a bloodbath of my own making wondering how the hell I was still alive with all that blood—again, confirming I’d dreamt up the whole thing.

  When I’d asked Annie about the bruises on her wrist, about the blood in my bed, she’d just stared at me like I’d run over her favorite puppy and laughed.

  “Who hurt you?” I asked without looking up, ready to puke all over her white Keds.

  I mean, really? White Keds? Was she six?

  “You don’t—” Her voice cracked. “You don’t remember last night? Throwing a tantrum and chairs? Coming back here—”

  “Look.” I winced as the need to puke surged closer to the surface. “I’m sorry if I said some shit that was hurtful; I was drunk, high off pills I should have never had in the first place. And sad, so fucking sad.” I finally looked up at her as a wave of tension pulled tight between us. “All I remember is waking up in my bed, so if you’re the one that helped me…” God, this was painful. “Thank you.”

  “Ash…” She chewed her lower lip as tears filled her eyes. “You really don’t… you really don’t remember anything else?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and smiled. “I remember her.”

  “Her?” She gulped.

  “Claire,” I whispered. “Look,
I know I sound crazy, but she was there, maybe, maybe it was the drugs, I don’t know, but if I have to keep talking, I can at least promise you that I’m going to start puking.”

  “Sorry.” A tear slid down her cheek.

  “Why the hell do you cry so much?” I snapped, my head pounding at the temples so hard that I thought I was going to die from the pain. Besides, her tears reminded me of so much hurt that I’d yet to process it reminded me I needed to grieve, which reminded me she was dead. Which meant every time Annie cried…

  I thought of Claire.

  She jumped a foot. “Wh-what?”

  “See, that’s what I mean!” I needed someone to be angry with, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be angry with myself, and she was standing there so fucking perfect in her fucking sweater looking like sunshine.

  And I hated her for it.

  When you’re suffering, you want everyone around you to suffer.

  Everyone.

  Most of all, the ones who seem to have more happiness than you. Because if you can just steal away some of that happiness, maybe your sadness won’t be so heavy.

  If you can punch the hell out of their smile.

  It won’t hurt so much when you frown.

  “I don’t understand.” Her eyes narrowed, filling with more tears. “I was just checking up on—”

  “I don’t like you.” I snapped. “At all. I don’t want to fuck you. I sure as hell don’t want to be your friend, Annie, so you don’t need to check up on me because I’m not that guy. I’m not gentle. If you were sick, I’d probably tell you to toughen up and then drop off soup at your door in case you’re contagious. I’m not that guy, so I don’t know why you keep trying. It’s like you think you see something in me that you can save when I don’t want saving. I don’t need rescuing. And I would never pick you of all people to be my hero, even if I did.”

  Her eyes widened, and she stumbled backward, her head shaking like she couldn’t believe what I was saying when I’d never promised her otherwise. It was confusing as hell.

  I sighed. “Look, just because we almost screwed after the pool house means nothing.” I knew it was a mistake, letting her play that part months ago while Valerian snuck into my house.

  She was supposed to be the slutty distraction.

  And I wasn’t supposed to get so hard that I wanted nothing more than to take her into my bedroom and strip.

  I’d been depressed.

  Angry.

  And she’d been easy.

  That was it.

  I didn’t even realize I’d just said all of that out loud until she gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

  “Shit, Annie—”

  “No.” She held up her shaking hands. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Her smile was so damn forced.

  She’d always been gorgeous.

  But so damn pure that it was impossible not to hate her.

  We always hated what we couldn’t have.

  And she had peace.

  I was a son of war.

  The two would never… could never meet.

  She turned on her heel and muttered something about letting me drown in my own vomit before slamming the door behind her.

  Huh, maybe she did have some spunk.

  “Ash.” Dad’s voice brought me back to the present. When I looked up, all I saw was rage.

  Fantastic.

  Scary Dad was gonna go in for the kill.

  In three.

  Two.

  One.

  “You owe me.” He clenched his jaw. “The only reason your mom doesn’t know about the pills is because I kept it from her—from your friends, your family. So here’s how this is gonna work.”

  I clenched my teeth and waited for it.

  “You’re going to put on a shirt that doesn’t have bloodstains on it from sparring with Tank, you’re going to get your ass in whatever car that’s going to get you there faster. You’re going to put a fucking smile on your face, and you’re going to pick up Annie from the airport. If she wants French fries because she’s hungry, I expect you to stop at no less than five places so she can pick her favorite. If she wants you to take her shopping, you hand over the Amex. If she wants you to start rapping? You fucking ask her which song she wants to hear. You. Are. Her. Slave. Do you understand me?”

  “But, Dad—”

  “No ‘but Dads.’” He jabbed his finger at me. “Consider your atonement finished only as long as she gets back to this house without looking like she’s been crying. You don’t deserve to breathe next to her, let alone be the reason for her tears.”

  “You do realize I’m your son, right?” I sneered.

  He grabbed me by the shirt and shoved me against the nearest wall. His smile was cruel. “My son died that day; I’ve yet to see him return.”

  Slitting my throat would have hurt less.

  We stared each other down.

  The room was heavy with tension.

  Sick with sadness.

  God, when would it finally end?

  “That was a low blow, even for you, Sen…a…tor.” I drew out the title, knowing he hated it—especially coming from his only son.

  His eyes flashed. “Baiting me won’t make you feel better, believe me.” He shoved me back against the wall, then adjusted his tie and cracked his neck. The tats on his hands seemed to come alive with warning as he moved like he wanted me to know he would punch his own son in hopes of knocking some sense into him.

  “Fine.” I looked away so I wouldn’t see the disappointment in his eyes. “I’ll take the Tesla, as much as it pains me to admit, it’s faster than the Lambo.”

  He let out a snort. “Never let Tex hear you say that.”

  “I think he wept the day an electric sedan beat his sports car.” I sighed and then went over to my dresser to grab a T-shirt.

  “It will get easier,” Dad whispered. “One day. Not today, not tomorrow, I don’t know when, but one day, you won’t feel like you’re in purgatory.”

  “I don’t feel like I’m in purgatory, Dad…” I looked over my shoulder. “I feel like I’m reliving Hell.”

  His eyes softened for a minute before he gave me a nod and then turned around and left.

  I kicked my dresser a few times before finally pulling a long-sleeve black tee over my head then grabbing my wallet and cell phone.

  One thing I was one hundred percent certain about?

  Annie was going to shit a brick that enemy number one was picking her up—which to a masochist like me? Had me smiling the entire drive to the airport.

  Chapter Two

  Time is too slow for those who wait, Too swift for those who fear, Too long for those who grieve, Too short for those who rejoice, But for those who love, time is eternity. — Henry Van Dyke

  Annie

  He was late.

  I tried to shove every last nerve down into the pit of my stomach and keep it on lockdown.

  Almost a full year had passed.

  The memories of his words were as new and hurtful today as they had been the day he said them.

  But Ash Abandonato could just… rot in hell for all I cared.

  That was why I’d left.

  Well, it wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but when Chase had found me that day sobbing uncontrollably in the kitchen, nearly ready to collapse against the ground, it had taken everything in me not to rat Ash out.

  But Chase knew.

  His eyes had left mine and slowly gazed around until they landed on the sliding glass door and the pool house across the way.

  “Tell me everything,” he’d rasped.

  Then and only then did I find out that I was vetted through the Family because they truly knew everything.

  And their only way of protecting me?

  Protecting what was going on?

  Keep me safe.

  I should have known better.

  Then again, they’d very carefully kept me alive, and when Chase offered me an out for the next ten months, I’d jumped at th
e chance. I’d always loved art anyway, and to be able to travel to a foreign country by myself? To be given the type of freedom I’d only ever dreamed of with my own shiny black credit card and the blessing from one of the most powerful men in the states?

  I would have kissed his feet then begged to shine his shoes for the rest of my life.

  He’d kissed my forehead then.

  He’d apologized on his son’s behalf.

  And I think a part of Chase died that day, the day he had to carry the sins of his son when he was already too busy carrying the sins of the world—the sins of the Family.

  My time in Italy had been incredible.

  Studying abroad had been a pipe dream, but now that I was back and ready to finish the last few classes I needed to graduate, I felt deflated.

  In Italy, I’d seen myself as brave.

  I’d learned to love myself.

  I’d learned to put on lipstick, much to the amusement of all the cousins I already missed so much that there was a huge chunk of my heart missing where they were supposed to be.

  Whatever preconceived notions I had about living with another mafia family went completely out the window when they hosted a party in my honor upon arrival.

  So. Much. Wine.

  So much food.

  So much laughter.

  I swiped at the stray tear on my cheek and quickly put on my black Prada sunglasses—a parting gift from Aunt Sophie.

  “Boys who make girls cry, they are not worth your time, Bellissima.” She lifted my chin with her fingertip, slid the black glasses onto my nose, and whispered, “We Italians, we do not let them decide our emotions. We decide for ourselves. And then we raise hell, capire?”

  “Capire.” I’d smiled through my tears only to be hugged within an inch of my life and told I was again too skinny and needed to eat.

  With a sigh I checked my phone again, where was he?

  “Annie!” A familiar voice sounded my name, and just like that, the anxiety lifted as I turned around and laughed at my friend Tank as he jogged toward me.

  He was wearing a black beanie; his brown hair had grown out since I’d last seen him, curling near the nape of his neck as his green eyes drank me in, crinkling at the sides. One small dimple made itself known as his megawatt smile fell onto me like a day in the hot sun.