Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             “No.” He smiles, but there’s nothing happy about it. The pain and hatred in his eyes come through unmasked. “We were part of an organisation called The Pit. They kidnapped us as children and turned us into killing machines.”

                             “Oh, God.” I gasp before putting my hands in front of my mouth.

                             Tristan motions to the door. “Do you wish to know more? I’m sure Aaron isn’t into sharing the story of his life.”

                             “But...” I glance at Aaron’s sleeping form. He seems peaceful now, but still too pale to be considered normal.

                             “Don’t worry about him,” Tristan says in a light tone. “The medication will keep him out for some time. There’s nothing you can do to help him while he sleeps.”

                             He’s right. I take one last look at Aaron before following Tristan out. This is possibly the only opportunity to find out more about Aaron after Eva’s journal.

                             Unless... I narrow my eyes at Tristan’s broad back as we walk into my room. Is he trying to manipulate me like the other time? I don’t trust Tristan. Under that charming smile hides a cunning fox.

                             There’s something mystic, yet completely wrong about the whole Rhodes family.

                             The journal is splayed on the bed. My lips part. I hid it, didn’t I?

                             “Please have a seat.” Tristan motions to the bed as he takes the opposite chair.

                             My heart almost beats out of my chest. I gulp as I ease at the edge of the bed. “A-are you going to tell Aaron about the journal?”

                             He shakes his head, his expression’s coaxing, like Owen’s. “It won’t be a good idea. As a matter of fact, I’m glad it ended up in your hands, it reduces some of the storytelling.”

                             I bite my lip, my nails clink together in my lap. Screw it. I don’t care if Tristan is manipulating me. “Do you know why Eva didn’t continue writing?” I blurt.

                             Tristan sits tall in his chair, his dark eyes meet mine. When he speaks, the chillness of his voice sends frost down my spine. “As Aunt Eva predicted, Uncle Arthur’s control slipped. The day of her last entry was the day Uncle Arthur killed her then killed himself, leaving Aaron parentless. The only good thing the tragedy brought was giving Aaron his voice back. Although it only came from the shock of seeing his parents dead. That’s when Father adopted him. Aaron was raised with us, barely coping with what happened. Then, grandmother sent us to a boarding school, following our lineage’s customs. But only my little sister and I went to the school. Aaron was sent to a mental institute instead. An underground illegal ward that used unorthodox methods and experimented on their patients, age didn’t matter. The old hag always hated Aaron. Uncle Arthur and Aunt Ariel belittled her and made her feel insignificant. For her, Aaron was one of them. When Father found out, about a month later, he brought us all back home. Only Aaron seemed to have lost a part of himself in that place. He became hollow and lifeless. Nothing like a child, more like Uncle Arthur and Aunt Ariel trapped in a little boy’s body.”

                             Tristan goes quiet. As if retelling the memories weighed on him as much as it tore me apart. I wipe at the tears stroking my cheeks. God, why does a person have to go through all of that? He was only a little boy. An innocent kid. I hug my waist, afraid to hear the rest, yet I murmur, “And then?”

                             Tristan sucks in a deep breath. Although I never thought it possible, his face darkens further. “Then we were ambushed during a quiet family lunch. Our entire family and our partners’, The Harts, were killed except for me, Aaron, and Dylan. We were taken into The Pit and made into assassins. Dylan and I were twelve. Aaron was ten. We only escaped about eight years later by the help of our guards who spent all those years looking for us. We’ve been rebuilding our families’ names since then.”