Page 21 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

I step forward and catch a glazed look on her face. One perfect tear drips from the corner of her eye, trickling over the bridge of her nose and landing on the couch.

“Hey.” I touch her back. It’s like she doesn’t see me. “Hey,” I repeat, shaking her slightly.

She slides onto the floor, her ass on the rug, but her head never lifts up. Her forehead touches the couch.

She’ll moan and whine, but she always matches my roughness. Meets me thrust for thrust.

Now she’s on the ground and my chest goes cold.

“Get up,” I tell her. When she doesn’t answer I growl, “Get. Up.”

“What’s the point.” The words are tired and sad.

“I said?—”

“Just kill me.”

The cold weight on my chest grows. I crouch on the floor beside her, my hand grabbing her shoulder. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

Her forehead presses against the brown leather couch. “You said divorce or death.”

Fuck’s sake. I know my family keeps some messed up mottos but this quiet voice she uses scares me.

“No.” It comes out hard and dark. “No death and no divorce. This is for life, Mrs. Zimin. Now come on, get up.”

Please.

She tucks her knees to her chest but doesn’t turn away from the end of the couch. She never looks at me.

“You desecrated pizza night.”

My fists curl. “You went behind my back and went out of your way to keep it a secret.”

“I’m not being a brat. I just wanted pizza.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you have Olga order you some.”

Fat tears roll down her cheeks. Damn it, what the fuck is going on in her head?

“Olga doesn’t even let me snack.”

“What? I literally came home to you eating a cupcake last night.”

“She throws them away.”

Does she? There’s always something in the kitchen, but I don’t pay attention.

“Why are you crying?” This isn’t the sobs I’ve seen before. Her face is red and blotchy, but otherwise, her body remains eerily still.

“Because I’m so fucking tired.”

“Then go to bed.” Instead of watching TV with my brother.

“No. Of all of it. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Fuck’s sake I practically walk around hard at all times. “If I hated you, you’ d know it.”

“Well you don’t like me.” The words are so dark they strike me. I blink at my wife. “You want my body. And my loyalty and that’s it.”

Isn’t that most marriages? My mouth opens, but the thought doesn’t articulate itself.

“I’ve tried all this time to be your good girl.” She hugs herself closer, her face creasing further. “I act like a brat because I know you like it. And I deal with your mother!”

The words rip out of her.

“But I’m tired. I’m tired of your silence and I’m tired of constantly being spied on and I fucking hate boring ass salads every damn day of my life!

I know you’re mad that I helped Marissa, that you ended up tied to me, but what about me?

Nobody asked if I wanted to be slapped around all because I tried to help Daisy. ”

A jealous monster always eats away at me when Daisy comes up in conversation. Not that that’s often. She never mentions her, but I know the girl is always on Russet’s mind.

Ren didn’t bring back much information.

“Whatever happened,” Ren said, a seriousness on the woman’s face that wasn’t normal, “it was bad.”

It’s left me with frustratingly nothing. Who is this girl Russet willing walked through fire for? Even now the name brings renewed sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I knew it was wrong.” She aggressively rubs her nose, her voice watery but stronger. I’m relieved at the fire. I’d rather that than the lifeless doll from a few minutes ago. “I knew he just wanted to piss you off, but I didn’t care because he got Olga to go away.”

Olga’s come up in this conversation too many times in my opinion. And now that I’m thinking about it she’s right. Olga’s not here. She always waits to leave until I’m gone, that way somebody’s here with Russet.

“Why don’t you like Olga?” I ask, confused .

Disgust breaks through her despondent mask. “Fuck that bitch!”

“Hey!” I don’t know if I’ve ever defended a maid before, but I’m taken aback by the vitriol.

It reminds me, though, of an incident from a couple of weeks back.

I’d come home to change between meetings and walked into the kitchen to find Russet telling Olga she thought the smoothie she’d made for her tasted awful.

Olga’s blank eyes panned to me as if to silently say, ‘See what I’m dealing with.

’ She went back to cleaning the living room and I told Russet off for being rude.

I’d never seen her blush so badly and I assumed it came from embarrassment.

More like barely contained anger.

“I know all she does is spy on me,” Russet says and now her disgust is directed at me.

But I can’t stop my laugh. “You think I need the help of a housemaid to know what you’re up to?”

Her jaw clenches tighter, her arms tucking her knees to her chest.

“I’m not patronizing you.” I somehow go from wanting to strangle her to trying to make her feel better in the span of minutes.

“Elijah doesn’t like her either.”

“Mention his name one more time, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’ll answer to whatever name I give you, Mrs. Zimin.”

“Smith,” she corrects, lifting her chin. Her face is puffed up, her mascara smeared and skin flushed. Her hazel eyes are defiant, though, and I’m equal parts pissed and intrigued. “My name is Russet Smith and the very least you can do is make sure it’s on my tombstone.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demand, confused fury pumping through my veins. “Stop saying shit like that. ”

Tears leak from her eyes, but she doesn’t turn away. “Elijah thinks he played me.”

“Stop saying his name,” I growl.

She ignores me. “But you know my favorite part about Thursday nights?”

“Shut. Up.”

“When he leaves.”

What?

Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “He always leaves an hour before you get home. For one hour, I get the place to myself. I watch my shitty TV shows and I don’t have to hide from Olga and I can. . . breathe.”

Right now I can’t, though.

She’s shaking. Some dark monster slices her from the inside out. I’ve always known I’m that monster. But I’m just now realizing what I’m doing to her.

I school my face blank and ensure my voice is uncaring and cold. “Did you want me to be impressed? You think you outplayed us both, my brother and I?”

Her lips part, her eyes questioning my response.

“Grow up, Russet.”

She blinks.

“You shake your ass when you want me to fuck you. Learn how to speak up when you want some alone time.”

“Coming from the man who never speaks?” She quietly accuses.

I can’t stand whatever this is. Picking myself up, I leave the shivering doll on the floor. My used, broken doll.

I’m almost to the foyer when I turn back. “You said you’d been slapped around.”

She freezes, then blinks, trying to wipe her face blank.

“Russet.” I step back into the living room. “Why did you stay that? ”

She tries to shrug it off, but the involuntary shiver and the way her head bends down tell me there’s more to the story.

So in a voice kissed with death I ask, “Who slapped you around?”