“You saved your sister?” Her voice was distant.
“I should have saved them all. After Mom died and we knew we couldn’t do anything more for her, we hid. In the only place they couldn’t get to us.”
“Where?”
“The maze.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“I don’t want your sympathy, Anya. I want you to know why I hate him. Why I took you from him. Why I wanted him to suffer because I had you.” My hands clenched into fists as I gathered the strength to say the rest.
“I’ll never forgive him.”
“I am beyond forgiveness, too.”
“No, you’re not.”
I raised my hand to stop her. “You’re about to hate me. Maybe even more than him.”
“Never.”
“After my parents’ funeral, I followed him to your house in the Garden District. Stephen was alone. I didn’t care for my life. I cornered him without his men close by. Told him what my intention was. I vowed to come after—” I bowed my head as I said the rest. “That I would find you. Bring you here. And kill you.”
“Revenge?” she whispered it.
She knew no one could stop it. Not now. Not here. Should my threat go as planned, no one would hear her scream.
“I forgive you.” Her words carried on the air.
My stare held hers. “You shouldn’t.”
“And yet, I do.”
“Forgiving me isn’t smart. I’m not a man who deserves it.”
She leaned forward and pressed a finger to my mouth. “Stop. I do. I understand. I get why you did it.”
“Anya,” I snapped. “I was going to kill you.”
“You weren’t. I see that. I know you would never have hurt me. That’s not who you are. And after what we did to you, I can understand.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong. Other than being born in that family.”
She hesitated, ready to form words but unable to say them. “I’m glad you told me.”
Perspiration spotted her brow. She swiped it away with her hand.
“I’ve scared you.”
“No, I’m just fucking hot.”
A half-laugh escaped my lips. You haven’t lost her. Not yet. My brain scavenged for signs she was trying to be brave. Trying to placate me. Before she left me for good.
Anya slapped my forearm. A jolt of pain. She held my gaze. “Mosquito.”
“This was a bad idea, wasn’t it?”
“We could have bought repellent.”
“Then you would have guessed.”
“Not in a million years.” She sucked in a sob. “He’s a monster.”
“I’m the monster, Anya.”
“No, you’re the result of his cruelty. I pray God does something.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
Our boat shifted, turning a little before continuing. Anya gave a nervous glare my way.
Rolling my sleeve up, I scooted to the edge of the boat. “Probably a gator.” I reached my hand into the water. “Let me check.”
She leaped toward me. “No!” Her fingers latched onto my arm and yanked it away from the surface.
I shook the droplets off my hand. “I have this thought that won’t go away.”
“What?”
“If I die, all your problems will go away.”
Anya fell on top of me, knocking me backward and landing on my chest. Rocking the boat. I shifted us both to get comfortable and welcomed this much-needed hug.
She clung to me. “You saved me from him.”
Resting my head back on the edge, I peered toward the starlit sky and wrapped my arms around her as we drifted with the slow-moving tide.
“You’re not the man I thought you were.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“You should know by now nothing scares me. Not this place. Not my past. Nor the truth. I’m beyond all of that.”
“I wasn’t trying to scare you. Merely get across how an adolescent kid would have reacted to being brought all the way out here. And told all that.”
“It was what happened after this place that changed you. You were so young.”
“I can take you anywhere you want to go. I want you to know that. I can give you money. Get you out of New Orleans—”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“How can you still want to be with me?”
“How can I not?”
Her embrace, her resting her head on my chest, her stark beauty taking on a mythical status, as though the profoundness of her being was God taunting me with the happiness I would never deserve.
“I can’t let you go. I should. But I can’t,” I whispered.
“Then don’t.”
Anya
Once Cassius had fallen asleep, I came out here to the garden so he couldn’t see me like this.
Tears were staining my cheeks. I tried not to think of that car pulling up beside Cassius or those bullets flying. The thought of him being killed and taken from me forever.
Everything he’d told me in the swamp last night revolved in my mind like a living nightmare that wouldn’t cease.
The end of my innocence was marked with the realization my father was a murderer.
A fucking arms dealer.
Involved in the underworld of crime. And if I really admitted it to myself, after recalling the kind of men who’d visited him in the house, it had been obvious. From the money that flowed. The way he kept us out of sight. The fact he’d had children before us. It was terrifying to think of this man as my father.
A man involved with the worst kind of crime. He had the resources to destroy anyone who crossed him. Anyone.
The thought of Archie still in that house made my skin crawl. I had to get him out.
Only it would have to be strategic.
I’d brought out a blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders, needing the extra warmth to endure the late evening chill while I breathed in the freshest air. The garden sprawled before me as though it whispered that new memories were possible.
Happier times might even be possible.
Seeing what lay beyond in a new way. Instead of being imprisoned in this place, it felt like a refuge.
I reeled back, hit by the realization. I thought I’d been counting down the days until my escape, but sometime during my time here I’d started to enjoy each moment. Not living for yesterday. Or tomorrow. Just today. Cassius Calvetti—broken, twisted Cassius—taught me the most important lesson I’d ever learn.
To live.
Beyond me, the neatly trimmed maze was a contrast to the wild foliage that sprang up around it, tendrils of plants and flowers nearing its sides as though just as fascinated with its creation.
The ghost of Cassius’s words from the early evening in the swamp stayed with me. More than just his touch. The way he’d made me feel last night in that modest hotel room at The Pontchartrain. Safe and nurtured.
Though even as we’d shared a rare intimacy, he’d refused to take me. Refused to bury himself deep inside me or even let me pleasure him. I’d merely become a wanton mess of a woman trying to fall asleep in his arms.
All that was left was for my imagination to fill in the spaces in-between the fantasy made half-real by him. Let my thoughts carry me to the moment he made love to me.