Chapter 45

Chapter 45
In the center of the room, a man was strapped to a heavy steel chair.

It was Zaphen.

The last time she had seen Zaphen was when Aston’s men brought him out drenched wet with the smell of copper, a smell Aria now knew was blood.

He’d been trapped here all this time? 

He must have committed a heinous crime for Aston to spare him for torture instead of killing him outright. 

Zaphen was the proud son of heaven, the pride of the disgusting Eastwoods. He took pride in coercion, forcing nearly half of their classmates — both male and female — to sleep with him back in Wotushong, despite the fact that their parents were also important people.

She couldn’t imagine how much more he had tortured the people who didn’t have any sort of power to resist. 

Now though, he didn’t look like a proud untouchable young master, he looked destroyed. His face was a pulp of violet and crimson, his chest heaving under a shirt that had been shredded to ribbons.

Standing over him was Aston.

Aston was all controlled, cold, terrifying brutality. His white silk shirt was unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled past his elbows to reveal forearms with veins thick with tension and splattered with dark droplets. He looked and moved like a predator, his movements surgical as he adjusted a weighted glove.

Aria didn't turn away.

Neither did she scream.

Instead, her pulse hammered, her heart beating a heavy rhythm against her ribs, trying to escape out of its cage. 

Her eyes tracked the way Aston's muscles rippled with every movement, the absolute, cold authority he radiated. It was terrifying, and it was a display of raw power that sent searing heat straight to her stomach.

She watched longer than she should have, her lips parted, her pupils blown wide as she drank in the sight of the monster she wished she shared a bed with.

He was hot, for the lack of a better word.

Zaphen's head rolled back while Aria perused her ravishing husband undetected, his one good eye catching a glimpse of her in the doorway.

"Ar... ia..." he wheezed, the name a broken, wet gurgle in his throat.

Aria scowled, wishing she could shoot him down.

He had interrupted what was bound to be a beautiful one way staring session between her and Aston’s body. And now she had to face the man that didn’t care about her.

She bit her lip, about to clear her throat and act imperiously, but Aston’s reaction was faster. 

In the blink of an eye, he erupted. His fist connected with Zaphen's jaw with a sickening crunch, a fist Aria didn’t see, only heard. 

A tooth flew across the concrete, skittering toward Aria's feet as Zaphen's head snapped to the side.

"Do not," Aston's voice was a low, vibrational growl that made the stone walls, and Aria’s body, hum, "ever let her name cross your filthy tongue again."

Aria let out a sharp, audible gasp, completely without her own permission.

The possessiveness in his tone was like a brand. It was the hottest thing she had ever heard.

Every inch of skin on her body felt hot, like she was walking through a fire she particularly enjoyed.

Aston finally turned. His face was a mask of hard, cold steel, his eyes burning with a dark, predatory light that hadn't yet faded. 

He stood over the broken man, looking at Aria as if she were a ghost, as if he didn’t just decimate a man for mentioning her name.

"I didn't intend for my lady to see something so... dirty," he quipped, his voice dripping with a sarcasm that was as sharp as a razor. 

Aria stepped out of the shadows, her chin tilting upward even as her legs felt like lead and her fingers shook. She was certain she was redder than a ripe tomato fruit, she hoped he thought it was because of the heat in the basement.

The adrenaline and the attraction were making her reckless.

"Maybe your lady is tired of being kept in the dark while you play butcher in the basement," she snapped back, her voice trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the sheer friction of the moment. "Is this how you spend your nights? Making sure everyone is as miserable as you are?"

Aston’s jaw tightened. 

"Upstairs. Now," he commanded. It wasn't a request. It was an unyielding wall.

"I'm not finished talking to—"

"I said now, Aria." his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Before I forget that you aren't one of the things I break down here."

She shivered, the threat more intoxicating than frightening. She couldn’t even berate herself this time. There was something about Aston that dismantled her defences.

She turned and began the long climb back up, feeling the weight of his eyes burning into the small of her back — and if she was being honest, she felt the stare on her ass, but Aston wasn’t like that — until she cleared the door and closed the hatch again.

She sat against a wall on the floor of the dimly lit basement. Somewhere below her, Aston was probably still beating up Zaphen. 

The man she wanted didn’t care about her. The men she didn’t want were forcefully fabricating stories about her.

Ten minutes passed.

Aria snapped out of her thoughts as the basement door creaked and she rushed to her feet, pretending to look intimidating. 

Aston stepped out. He was suddenly winded, his chest heaving under the ruined silk shirt, his hair disheveled. He looked like he had just finished a war.

“What happened…?” Aria asked confused. She had seen him cold and predatory not even an hour ago, what could have made him so out of sorts.

Aston didn’t reply, he simply locked eyes with her and began to walk.

No, not walked. He stalked.

Aria found herself backtracking speedily, the slippers on her feet clicking against the marble as he closed the distance with terrifying speed. She hit the wall, the cold stone biting into her back, and before she could even draw a breath to speak, he was there.

He pinned her, his weight crushing her against the wall, his hands trapping her head as he leaned in. He didn't hesitate. He claimed her mouth in a searing, bloody, desperate kiss that tasted of iron and salt.