All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

38. Vesper

VESPER

I stand there, frozen, as Natasha's words echo in my mind like a twisted, haunting melody. The world around me blurs, and I feel as if I'm drowning in a sea of betrayal and lies. My cousin…not my cousin. My uncle and Bianca. The architects of my torture. A son...my son, born from pain and deceit.

My legs give way, and I sink to the floor, the cold a stark contrast to the fire of emotions raging within me.

"Vesper," Natasha's voice breaks through the fog, laced with concern and regret. But I can't look at her. Can't bear to see the face that now represents years of lies.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces of my shattered reality together. The memories of those two years of torture flood back, more vivid and painful than ever. Each scar on my body now tells a different story, not one of random cruelty, but of calculated manipulation by those I trusted most.

"A son," I whisper, the words foreign on my tongue. A child born from the union of deception and brutality. My mind races, conjuring images of a faceless boy with my eyes and the monster's smile. Does he know about me? Does he wonder why his mother abandoned him?

The weight of this revelation crushes me, and I struggle to breathe. The carefully constructed walls I've built around myself since my return crumble, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. Tears I've held back for years finally break free, cascading down my cheeks in a torrent of anguish and rage.

Through the haze of my pain, I hear footsteps approaching. The sound echoes off the tile floors, growing louder with each passing second. Suddenly, the room fills with a whirlwind of movement and voices.

Zaire is there in an instant, his strong arms enveloping me. His familiar scent surrounds me as he pulls me close. I feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my cheek, a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind.

"What the fuck happened?" Oscar's voice booms through the room, his usual calm demeanor shattered by the scene before him. His blue eyes, normally so controlled, now blaze with a fury I've never seen before.

Talon stands beside him, his hands clenched into fists, his normally cheerful face twisted with concern and anger. The tension in the room is palpable, thick enough to choke on.

Alex, his face ashen, steps forward. His voice trembles as he recounts the horrifying truth, the years of lies, the betrayal of my uncle and Bianca, the existence of a son born from my suffering. With each word, Oscar's face grows darker, the veins in his neck pulsing with barely contained rage.

As Alex finishes, a roar of pure, unadulterated anger tears from Oscar's throat. It's a primal sound, filled with pain and promises of vengeance. In three long strides, he reaches Natasha.

Time seems to slow as Oscar's hands grasp Natasha's head. There's a moment of terrible stillness, and then, a sickening crack echoes through the room. Natasha's body crumples, lifeless, onto the table.

Zaire tries to shield my eyes, his large hand covering my face, but it's too late. Through the gaps between his fingers, I see everything. The violence, the finality of it all, burns itself into my retinas. I should feel something, horror, perhaps, or satisfaction, but I'm numb, lost in the storm of my own emotions.

"Take her upstairs," Oscar commands Zaire, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes, when they meet mine, are filled with a mixture of fury and tenderness that makes my heart ache.

As Zaire lifts me into his arms, I catch a glimpse of Talon. He stands guard at the door, his normally jovial face set in grim lines. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment, conveying a silent promise of protection.

Zaire carries me up the staircase, his steps sure and steady, as he makes his way through the living space of the penthouse until he reaches his room, kicking open the door. He lays me gently on the plush comforter, the material cool against my feverish skin. He searches my face desperately. "Vesper," he pleads, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, say something. Anything."

But words elude me. My mind is a maelstrom of fractured thoughts and raw emotions, each fighting for dominance. It’s too much. Too much pain. Too much fear. Too much of everything.

Zaire's warm hand cups my cheek, turning my face towards his. "Come back to me, Vesper," he whispers, before pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is gentle yet insistent, filled with a desperation that threatens to break through the fog enveloping my mind. I feel the warmth of his breath, taste the hint of whiskey on his tongue, but it's not enough to anchor me to reality.

A shadow falls across the room as Oscar appears in the doorway. The soft glow from the bedside lamp catches the crimson droplets on his hands, hands that had just ended a life with terrifying ease. His presence fills the room, a storm barely contained within human form.

"Vesper," Oscar's voice is low, controlled, but I can hear the undercurrent of worry. He approaches the bed, his movements measured and careful, as if afraid of startling me.

His blue eyes, usually so calm and calculating, now swirl with a tempest of emotions; anger, fear, and something deeper, more primal. He reaches out, his bloodstained hand hovering inches from my face, not quite touching.

The door creaks open once more, and Talon slips in. His usual easy grin is nowhere to be seen, replaced by a grim determination. He moves to the foot of the bed, his presence solid and reassuring.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Talon's voice is gentle, a stark contrast to his imposing frame. "You're scaring us a bit here. How about you come back to the land of the living, yeah?"

But their words wash over me like waves on a distant shore. I'm adrift in an ocean of pain and betrayal, the revelations of the day threatening to pull me under. My son, a living, breathing piece of me out there in the world.

Zaire's composure begins to crumble as he watches me, his eyes darting frantically between my face and the other men in the room. His breathing becomes ragged, chest heaving with each labored inhale. The muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, a visible manifestation of his internal struggle.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters, running his hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands. "This isn't happening. This can't be fucking happening."

Oscar steps closer, placing a steadying hand on his brother's shoulder. "Z, you need to calm down. We can't help her if we're falling apart ourselves."

But Zaire shakes off Oscar's touch, whirling to face him. His eyes, usually a mirror image of his twin's, now blaze with a wild, almost feral intensity. The ring of blue in his eyes seems to glow in the dim light, giving him an otherworldly appearance.

"Calm down?" Zaire's voice rises, bordering on hysteria. "How the fuck am I supposed to calm down when she's like this?" He gestures wildly towards me, his movements jerky and uncontrolled. "It's worse than when we found her, Oz. At least then she was fighting, screaming, showing some sign of life. This...this is like she's gone. Like they've taken her away again, right in front of our eyes!"

Oscar's face pales at the comparison, his own composure slipping for a moment. He glances at me, and I see the fear flickering in his eyes. "You're right," he admits quietly, "but losing our shit isn't going to bring her back."

Talon moves closer, his imposing frame casting a shadow over the bed. "He's right, Z. We need to keep it together for Vesper."

But Zaire is beyond reason now. His control, always so tenuously maintained, finally snaps. With a roar of frustration and anguish, he slams his fist into the wall, leaving a sizable dent in the plaster. The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot.

In that moment of chaos, something shifts in Zaire's eyes. The wild panic recedes, replaced by a steely determination. He turns back to me, leaning in close, his face mere inches from mine.

"Vesper," he growls, his voice low and commanding. It's not the voice of the man I've come to know, but something darker, more primal. "Put your fucking eyes on me. Now."

The force of his words cuts through the fog in my mind like a knife. I blink, once, twice, my gaze slowly focusing on his face. The world around me starts to come back – the worried faces of Oscar and Talon, the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the faint scent of Zaire's cologne.

"There you are, moya koroleva.”

They all sigh in relief as my eyes finally focus, the fog lifting from my mind like mist dissipating in the morning sun. Zaire kneels before me, his face a canvas of emotions; relief, fear, and an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.

"I thought I lost you," he whispers, his voice cracking with the weight of his words. "We all did."

His hand trembles as he reaches out to cup my face, his touch as gentle as a butterfly's wing against my skin. The contrast between this tenderness and the raw power he displayed moments ago sends a shiver down my spine.

Oscar moves closer, his presence solid and reassuring. The blood on his hands has dried to a rusty brown, a stark reminder of the violence that preceded this moment. His blue eyes, usually so guarded, now shine with a vulnerability that makes my heart ache.

Talon exhales loudly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The tension in his broad shoulders eases slightly, but his stance remains protective, as if expecting danger to burst through the door at any moment.

The room seems to come alive around me, details sharpening into focus. The intricate patterns on the wallpaper swirl and dance in the soft lamplight. The faint scent of sandalwood and leather fills my nostrils, a comforting reminder of where I am.

"Vesper," Oscar's voice is low, almost reverent. He kneels beside Zaire, his eyes searching mine. "Are you with us?"

I nod slowly, feeling as if I'm moving through molasses. My throat feels dry, words sticking like sand. But I force them out, needing to reassure them, to reassure myself.

"I'm here," I croak.

The relief that washes over their faces is palpable. Talon lets out a shaky laugh, the sound breaking the tension in the room.

"Christ, sweetheart," he says, moving closer. "You scared the living daylights out of us."

I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace. The weight of everything that's happened, everything I've learned, still presses down on me, threatening to drag me under again.

“Tell me what you need, moya koroleva. Give me a purpose."

As I look into Zaire's pleading eyes, something stirs within me. A spark ignites, growing into a flame that threatens to consume everything in its path. The numbness that had enveloped me begins to recede, replaced by a fierce, burning rage.

"My son," I whisper, my voice growing stronger with each word. "I want my son."

The men exchange glances, a mixture of surprise and determination crossing their faces.

"And I want them to pay," I continue, my hands clenching into fists. "My uncle, Bianca. I want them to suffer for what they've done."

Oscar's eyes harden, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Consider it done, my love."

As I speak, images flood my mind, a little boy with my green eyes and a mischievous smile. I imagine his laughter echoing through the halls of this penthouse, his tiny hand clasped in mine as we walk through the park. The thought of him out there, alone and unaware of his mother's existence, fills me with a desperate longing.

"He must be so beautiful," I murmur, more to myself than the others. "Do you think he has my eyes? Or my smile?"

Zaire's grip on my hand tightens. "We'll find out soon enough, moya koroleva. We'll bring him home to you."

The idea of home takes on a new meaning now. It's no longer just a place, but a feeling. The warmth of my son in my arms, the security of these three men surrounding me with their love and protection.

"I want to see the fear in their eyes," I say, surprising myself with the venom in my voice. "I want them to know what it feels like to be helpless, to have everything they love torn away from them."

Oscar nods, his eyes glinting dangerously. "We'll give you that, Vesper. We'll give you everything."