Page 26 of Fractured Loyalties

Twenty-Six

IVY

It’s black outside, it’s black inside, and the only light is the faint glow that’s leaking in from under my door. I lie on top of the covers, my knees to my chest, a throw blanket knotted around my waist.

I just need to make it a couple more months. Then I can run away. I don’t have to be here.

The click of a lock turning breaks my thoughts, and I freeze. Ever since Roman left, the lock has stayed turned on my door.

I hold my breath and stare at the door, the white rectangle glowing faint and spectral in the darkness. A shadow passes in front of it. For a second, my heart hammers with the hope that maybe Roman has come back from wherever Robert sent him.

Is he here to set fire to the house and take me with him?

But the shadow is too tall.

The silhouette in the doorway is broad and straight-backed, and I know instantly that it’s not Roman, it’s Robert.

He waits there for a moment, as if expecting applause. Then he steps in, and quietly closes the door behind him.

His scent hits before anything else. The cologne is heavy in the air, an abnormality I’ve never noticed before. It’s almost suffocating and makes me want to vomit.

When he steps closer, I can make out that he’s wearing a navy silk robe over immaculate pajamas, like this is just an errand, a quick trip to the fridge for a midnight snack.

He says nothing at first, just glides across the floor, his shadow stretching and swallowing the shapes of my things—my desk, my books and the urn on the dresser.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disrupt the covers, and turns to face me with a smile that’s all teeth and no warmth.

I pull the blanket tighter. “What are you doing?”

He laughs, soft and measured, as if he’s already bored with the conversation. “I thought you might be lonely.”

I say nothing. My hands are buried in the blanket, but I make fists, my knuckles pressing bone white against the cotton.

He leans closer and drops his voice to a hushed whisper. “I know you haven’t been sleeping.” He taps the mattress with his index finger. “You know, when I was your age, I had trouble sleeping, too. But it was never like this. It was because I had needs that were being unmet.”

I watch the movement of his hands, the gentle flex and curl of his fingers, as if he’s testing the air.

He waits for me to say something. When I don’t, he sighs, and all the pleasant pretense falls away.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Ivy. I don’t have the patience for games tonight.

I’m tired.” His eyes flick to the closet, then back to me.

“You’re an adult now. You understand what this family requires.

I think you know that your little performance with Roman—” he pauses, letting the word fester, “was not an accident.”

I feel the bile rising, thick and burning, but I force myself to stay perfectly still.

“I’ve watched the video,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Multiple times, in fact.” He shakes his head, as if the very idea is tragic. “It’s… wasteful, isn’t it? To throw yourself at a boy who’ll never amount to anything, when you could have everything you want…if you’re smart.”

What I want is to scream. I want to reach through the blanket and claw at his eyes until he stops looking at me like that, his gaze predatory and dark.

He inches closer. “Did you know,” he says, his tone conversational, “that in a past life I paid good money for things like you? Girls like you, who were ruined and wanting.” He shrugs, as if the story is nothing. “Now I have you in my own house, but you’re being wasted on a moron.”

“You’re disgusting,” I say, my voice cracking on the way out.

He laughs again, the sound vibrating through the bed and up into my spine.

“Roman never understood that love and hate are two sides of the same coin,” he says.

“He could have had the world, if he’d just learned to say thank you.

” He leans in so close I can see the stubble on his chin, and the tiny beads of sweat at his hairline.

“But you, Ivy…you’re a brilliant little thing.

You know how this works. You’ll say thank you when I’m done with you. ”

His hand lands on my ankle, and it’s heavy and cold. I flinch, but he tightens his grip, squeezing just enough to warn me.

“My father used to say, if you want something, take it. If it’s yours, it won’t run. If it isn’t, you break it until it fits. That’s where Roman learned it, although he didn’t understand the beauty of owning more than one thing. He wanted you and just you. Pathetic .”

I try to pull my foot away, but his nails are digging into my skin.

“Let go of me.”

He ignores the words, his eyes locked on the shape of my calf under the blanket. “You could be so much more than a Woods,” he murmurs, almost tender. “You could be a legend. Do you know how much money your tape made in the first hour? I could make thousands more with you, if you’re willing.”

I thrash, finally, twisting to the side, but he holds me fast. I try to kick, but his hand slides up, pinning my shin to the mattress.

He smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m not like Roman. I can be gentle…if you’re good.”

I suddenly realize that he isn’t even seeing me as a person. I am just an investment, a body to be leveraged, a bank account to be filled.

He lets go of my leg, and the relief is instant, but then his hand is on my thigh, pressing through the blanket. His grip is stronger than I would have expected. It’s clear he’s used to violence and to getting what he wants through force. The blanket is the only thing between his skin and mine.

“I can give you whatever you want,” he whispers. “A car, your own apartment, and even an Ivy League school. But you have to be good for me and whoever I take you to, pretty Ivy, just like your mother. She thought I loved her, but you…You will know the truth.”

He waits for me to respond, but I can’t. Every cell in my body is panicking, and my lungs feel tight. I don’t know if I want to fight or run, and my muscles are so tense I can barely move.

He inches higher, his hand now on my upper thigh.

“That’s better,” he says, his voice molten, “You’re a quick study, Ivy. You’ll make me proud.” His hand slips beneath the edge of the blanket, searching for bare skin.

That’s when I snap.

I bring my knee up hard, catching his hand between my thigh and my ribcage. He grunts, not from pain, but from surprise. He starts to say something, but I rake my nails across his face, digging in as deeply as I can. I feel the skin give and the wet heat of blood under my fingertips.

He jerks away and staggers off the bed, one hand pressed to his cheek. He looks at the blood smeared across his palm and then back at me. His lips part, and for a split second, he seems almost impressed.

“You’ve got more fight in you than I thought,” he seethes, voice suddenly very cold.

He grabs my ankle again, this time with both hands, and pulls me down the bed. I claw at the covers, at the headboard, at anything I can reach, but he’s too strong. My body slides down, my knees scraping the sheets, until my hips are at the edge of the mattress.

He holds me there for a moment, panting.

“You can make this easy,” he says, his voice shredded. “Or you can make it hard.”

I spit in his face.

He backhands me, a hard, stinging slap that rattles my teeth and blurs my vision. The room tilts. He yanks one of my arms above my head, pinning my wrist with one fist, and with the other, he tears the blanket down to my waist.

The cold air stings my skin.

He leans in, pressing his lips to my ear. “You don’t want to end up like your mother, Ivy. Trust me. You want to be good.”

I jerk my head back, trying to slam his nose, but he sees it coming and moves aside. I get one more scratch in, this time across his neck. He grits his teeth, squeezing my wrist until I’m sure the bones will break.

“I can break you, Ivy,” he says, voice all gravel and hate. “No one will stop me. And it won’t be like it was with Roman. It won’t be like that because I don’t love you.”

He drops and then slides his hand up my thigh, the pressure bruising and invasive. I twist again, trying to bring my knee up, but he’s braced against me.

My whole world shrinks to the heat of his palm and the raw, buzzing pain in my cheek as he slaps me again.

He’s about to win. He’s going to take what he wants from me.

And then, from somewhere far away, I hear the front door slam and the eerie chimes through the whole place.

It’s followed by heavy, hurried steps that thunder down the hallway.

The doorknob rattles once, twice, and then the door bursts open, slamming against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.

Robert looks up, startled.

Roman stands in the doorway, panting, his eyes laced with hate. Behind him is a woman I have never seen before—but she looks just like him.

For a full second, nobody moves.

Robert’s weight is a mountain pressing me into the mattress, my wrist going numb from the force of his grip.

He ignores them. His breath is hot against my cheek, his teeth bared and his spit flecks my skin. The blood from my scratches beads on his face, bright and wet, and his hand is still on my thigh, squeezing so hard I think he might snap the bone.

“I guess you came to enjoy the show,” he says back to them over his shoulder. “You’re trespassing in my house,” he says, and the words are a growl.

My entire body is still frozen, but my mind is racing, mapping all the possible escape routes at once. I can’t move, but my blood is molten, and my muscles are tensed to snap.

The girl behind Roman leans in the doorway, terrifyingly casual. “You really gonna let him keep touching her?”

Roman launches himself.

He covers the distance in half a heartbeat, grabs Robert by the collar, and rips him off the bed with a sound like tearing paper. Robert is huge, but Roman is pure hate and adrenaline.

They slam against the dresser, shattering the urn that holds my father’s ashes—navy fragments of earthenware skitter across the floor and powder the carpet with gray ash.

I scramble backwards and hit my head against the headboard.

The room tilts with the impact. I watch Roman’s hands as they close around Robert’s throat, his thumbs digging into the tendons on either side.

Robert’s face purple instantly.

He tries to fight back, landing a fist in Roman’s gut, but Roman doesn’t even flinch. He bends at the knees, lifts Robert up, and slams him onto the bed where I was just pinned—the springs shriek.

“Get out, Ivy,” Roman shouts at me, his voice a ragged snarl. “Now.”

But I don’t move. I can’t.

Robert bucks and throws a wild punch that glances off Roman’s ear. He tries to claw Roman’s face, but Roman catches his wrist and twists it. The sound is obscene, a pop, then a wet rip, and Robert screams, a high and inhuman scream.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

The girl in the doorway finally steps in, still so calm she seems out of place. She plucks a fountain pen off my desk, flips it in her hand, and tosses it to Roman.

“Use this. He’ll go out faster.”

Roman grins, grabs the pen, and drives it into Robert’s neck just below the jaw. Blood gushes out, splattering my sheets and spraying the wall behind the bed. Robert convulses, his hands fluttering weakly and his eyes rolling white.

Roman holds the pen in place, staring into Robert’s face until the light goes out. Only then does he let go. He backs up, breathing hard, and covered in blood and sweat.

He stares at the corpse for a long time.

The girl goes to stand beside him. “You’re an absolute mess,” she says, but there’s a streak of affection in it.

Suddenly, I feel jealous of her.

Roman wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns to me. His eyes soften. Every one of my nerves is on fire, every inch of skin crawling with adrenaline and dread, with something hotter underneath.

I expect myself to scream, to throw up and run away, but instead I just… stare at him—the way his chest heaves, the way his eyes burn, and the way he is the only thing in the world that matters.

I open my mouth, about to tell him I love him.

Then he completely ruins it.

“I killed Kade,” he says, his voice flat as he pants. He has blood splatter all over his face. “I dumped him in the bay. No one’s going to look for him. No one’s going to look for us.”

The girl leaning against my desk doesn’t even look remotely surprised.

I don’t know how to process this information. Instead, I watch blood run down the side of the mattress to where it pools at the corner of the bed frame. I watch the pen still lodged in Robert’s neck, the ink mixing with blood and dripping onto the carpet.

I feel… nothing. And everything.

Roman comes to me, then. He drops to his knees beside the bed. He reaches out, his hands ironically gentle. He brushes my hair away from my face and he touches my cheek with a finger, so soft it might as well be a ghost.

“I had to do it,” he says, voice broken. “Not kill Kade, I mean. That was just me being angry, because I just… I just wanted you, Ivy. But Robert?” He nods toward his dead father. “He would’ve hurt you. He would’ve hurt you like he hurt…”

“Me,” the girl steps forward. “And your mother.”

I nod, unable to speak or fully comprehend what they are telling me.

“This is my sister, Nico,” Roman clarifies.

“He did it to all of us,” Nico adds, still calm.

“We just never thought he’d go this far.

My older brother killed himself because he joined the family business and couldn’t live with the trafficking.

So Robert learned to keep us on the edge.

He’s the one who leaked the tape. He did it to get to you. And to make money, probably.”

“That’s… sick. ” I can barely choke out the words, as the disgust hits me.

Roman pulls me off the bed and gathers me into his lap. He holds me there, rocking me back and forth even as his blood soaks through his shirt and onto my skin. And as fucked up as it is…

I feel s afe.

And I don’t care about the rest of the world.

I bury my face in Roman’s neck and inhale the scent of sweat and blood—and everything Roman. He holds me tighter, as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish, and for a moment I wish we could.

He tips my chin back, his eyes wild and bright, yet still full of hunger. “You’re mine,” he whispers.

“I’m yours,” I breathe out, clinging to him. “I love you,” I say, my voice thin and sharp. The words are a secret just for us.

Roman’s eyes flash, and he smiles, wicked and bright. “I know, and I love you, too, in my own fucked up way.”

I squeeze him tighter in reply because I’m okay with that.