Page 86 of Chains of Recompense
Aisling stiffens, and I know it’s bringing back memories of how we met.
“Years after you and I were finished,” I clarify, though it doesn’t feel like I’m softening the blow much at all. I swallow. “She was my sub. For a while.”
The words sit between us, raw and unvarnished. I don’t look at her. I can’t. I keep my gaze fixed on the far wall, on the faint crack near the corner of the ceiling that I’ve never noticed before.
“What’s a sub?” Aisling finally asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
I glance toward her, the corner of my lip curling ruefully. Of course Aisling would be so naive that she wouldn’t know.
I don’t know how I ever missed the signs that first night with her.
And though we dida lotof things in those three nights together, it didn’t take me long to figure out that she was far less practiced than the girls I usually took to my bed.
I’d shown her lots of things—but we never made it so far as to cover dominance and submission on a more permanent level.
“It’s the closest thing to a relationship I’d ever desired before,” I continue. “Clean. Consensual. No deeper attachments—but something in my life that I could control.”
Aisling is watching me carefully, not judging. Just listening.
“But Genevieve was just so easy to talk to.” A huff of something almost like a laugh escapes my throat. It dies quickly. “I started seeing her outside the club as well. She didn’t care who I was—or she did, but she decided it didn’t scare her.” My chest tightens. “I fell in love with her.”
The words land like a confession and a condemnation all at once, and it feels like Aisling is holding her breath as she waits for me to keep going.
“My father hated her,” I go on. “Hated that she was a girl from our club. Hated that I’d chosen someone without blood or strategy or leverage.” I glance down at my hands, knuckles pale where they’re locked together. “I don’t know. Maybe part of me loved her because I knew how much it pissed him off. He tried to get me to break up with her on multiple occasions. But the harder he pushed, the more I wanted to call her my own. So we eloped.”
Aisling sucks in a quiet breath.
“We’d known each other less than a year,” I say. “Were married less than six months.” I shake my head slowly, the memory sourand sharp. “He still let her move into the house after that. He let her live here rather than letting me walk away from the family. I don’t know if it was mercy or control—probably both. No doubt, he figured he could keep our relationship quieter if he kept a close eye on us.”
My voice drops. “The worst of it is that part of me wonders if I married her just to spite my father.” The admission tastes bitter. “I told myself it didn’t matter. That I loved her and that was enough. Besides, what did my motivations matter when I could give her a good life, I could protect her?” I finally turn to look at Aisling, the guilt and remorse overwhelming. “I couldn’t.”
The room feels colder suddenly, like the memory can suck the heat from everything it touches.
“When the Yakuza came—the Irish, the Bratva. They tore through our front gates so quickly, I didn’t even know we were under attack.” My throat tightens, and I swallow hard, my eyes closing against the memory of Genevieve’s scream—her plea for help. “Kenji’s men grabbed her while she was trying to find me.”
Aisling’s hand lifts halfway, then stops, like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to touch me.
Slowly, she drops it back to the bed, her blue eyes round with unspoken sympathy.
“By the time I realized what was happening, that my wife was in danger, it was too late.” The words come out flat, stripped of inflection. “They slit her throat. Right in front of me.”
Aisling’s face pales, her freckles standing out starkly against her white skin.
“I was fighting,” I continue. “I could see her. I just couldn’t reach her in time.” My breath shudders, and I clench my jaw, fighting back the wave of emotion that threatens to swallow me whole. “I held her while she died, just bled out in my arms in a matter of seconds.” I can still see the blood on my hands in my mind’s eye, the way she stared up, terrified, looking to me as if I could save her. “She tried to speak.” I shake my head. “But they cut her throat so deeply, she couldn’t make a sound. I don’t know what she wanted to say. I’ll never know.”
The room is silent except for my breathing. I stare down at my hands, still seeing crimson that stains my hands, remembering the lifeless way Genevieve watched me even after she released her last breath.
“It’s my fault,” I say, the weight of my guilt crashing down on me with brutal force. “I brought her into my world. I failed to protect her.”
Aisling’s eyes shine, but she doesn’t interrupt, the soft hitch in her breath the only sound that escapes her.
“I intended to stay with her,” I say quietly. “To die with her that night.” My fingers curl into the sheets, and I shake my head more violently this time. “Sandro wouldn’t let me. The place was still crawling with enemies, so he dragged me out of the house while it burned. Told me I didn’t get to follow her. Told me I owed her more than that.” My jaw tightens. “He told me we would avenge her.”
The promise still hums in my bones, a low, unrelenting note.
Aisling reaches for my hand then.
Her fingers are warm and steady as they wrap around mine, and it cracks something inside me, a small fissure allowing emotion to leak through—like steam escaping from a pressure cooker.
