by Emelia Blair
“What the hell is going on?” I hiss at him. “What am I missing?”
“I’ve been cleaning up your messes for a long time, Zayn,” my father tells me. “Even the ones you didn’t know about.”
“I want answers.”
I just left Mila in her room to pack what she wants to bring to my house.
Not the smartest idea since my daughter wants to bring all of her toys and then some.
Elijah is in the kitchen, waiting on us as Eve went to pack her things. I trail after Eve, watching her throw some clothes into a bag.
She pretends to contemplate between two shirts, but I know she is thinking of how to answer me while giving me as little information possible.
“Eve,” I grab her firmly by the wrist, forcing her to look at me.
When she does, I frown. “I’m asking you to be honest, not try to throw me off track. How do you know Elijah? How did you meet him?”
She doesn’t remove her arm from my hold, just gives me a conflicted expression. “It’s complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate it,” I suggest, unhelpfully.
Brow twisting in annoyance, she pulls her arm back. “I met him at the hospital. When I first found out about Mila. I had gone for a check-up. I ran into him, and he was holding a cup of coffee in his hands, and it fell over him. And I offered to get him another one. We just got to know each other.”
I blink, languidly, not buying into it. “And somehow he just ended up becoming a silent partner to in your business? You’re not telling me everything.”
Eve dumps an armload of clothes into the bag and scowls at me. “Why do you need to know everything? It’s got nothing to do with you!”
“The hell it doesn’t!” I shout back.
She stares at me, stunned by the lack of control I just exhibited.
I regret it almost instantly.
Her voice is low this time, strain in it. “Let my past be, Zayn. I don’t want to think about it.”
I flex my fingers. “You don’t understand, Eve. Elijah is—He’s—" How could I tell her that my father isn’t just a criminal: he runs the underground world? That he is one of the most feared people, the king of monsters.
“He was kind to me,” Eve’s fingers tremble as she tries to zip up the bag. “When I had nothing and no one, Elijah was kind to me.” She looks up at me, and I see a plea for understanding. “I needed kindness at that point in my life.”
I take a step towards her, helpless at this expression in her eyes. “Why, Eve? What happened that was so bad?”
She shakes her head mutely. “I don’t want to talk about it. But your father, in a way, saved my life. I owe him a lot.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, my eyes narrowed.
If Eve doesn’t intend to tell me, then there are other ways I can find out.
I stalk towards the kitchen.
Elijah stands in front of the fridge, studying one of Mila’s drawings, a strange look on his face. It takes me a minute to decipher that expression.
Softness.
“You’ve known about my daughter for five years, and yet you never elected to tell me,” I say, coldly.
He doesn’t turn towards me, his back facing towards me, a sign of disrespect from one predator to another. However, we both know that my father rules the cruelest of predators with an iron fist.
“Eve wasn’t ready for you to know.”
I grit my teeth. “That wasn’t your decision to make.”
This time my father turns his gaze towards me, a frosty look in his eyes, cool and deadly. “No. It was hers.”
I try to find the leash that restrains my temper, find it, grab on to it, tightly.
“What happened to her? How did you find out about her?”
Elijah raises a brow. “A happy coincidence, I assure you. She was at—”
“—the hospital, I know,” I cut him off, frustrated. “She said you saved her life.”
Those same dangerous vibes emit from my father before he turns to pick up his cup of unfinished tea. “Eve’s secrets are her own. I ensured her protection. She was yours. I just took care of her till she was ready to approach you.”
“She didn’t approach me,” I bite out. “We ran into each other at—”
“—the hospital,” my father interjects, a small smile playing on his lips. “What a coincidence.”
My eyes narrow at him. “You crafty bastard. You had something to do with that?”
He gives me an offended look that is as fake as the rest of his personality that he shows the world. “I can hardly control fate, son.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” I mutter under my breath.
He hears my words and his smile broadens.
“If you’re not going to tell me what happened, tell me why you’re here.”
Elijah sits down at the kitchen table, looking completely at home in his fancy suit in this jumbled up room, which is made up of a mixture of different tastes.
“I got news of the incident that took place last night. Naturally, I was concerned,” he began.
I lean forward. “Do you know who it was?”
A troubled expression flashes across his face before he smooth’s it out. “Not yet. But I’m working on it.” He shoots me a sharp look, showing me peek beneath the veil, an image of an enraged predator. “Nobody would be so careless as to bring harm to my family.”
I study him. “But somebody did.”
14
Eve
The principal of the school objects to me trying to pull Mila out.
“Our security measures are high and her classmates are so young, they don’t really have a sense of the news in the tabloids. With so much going on, you need to let her keep some constants in her life.”
I sit across from the older woman who, despite her graying hair, looks sharp and alert.
“I don’t want people pointing fingers at her, Mrs. Talessy.”
Mrs. Talessy raises a brow. “When you transferred Mila here, it was with the agreement that she could sit in special classes. She’s very smart for her age. This establishment has a reputation, Miss Taylor. I handpick every teacher and discretion is very important to us. You two have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Zayn, who insisted on accompanying me, nods. “You can guarantee her safety?”
The woman eyes Zayn, assessing him. “On school grounds, yes. And we won’t hand her over to anybody who is not you, or her aunt.”
Agatha is added as one of the people who is allowed to pick her up.
“Then you have us convinced.” Zayn reaches out and shakes Mrs. Talessy’s hand as if securing a business deal.
“Thank you, Mrs. Talessy.”
I am awarded a warm smile. “Of course.”
As we walk out, I stare at the ground. “I agree with her, but I still want to keep Mila locked up in the house till everybody forgets all this.”
Zayn opens the car door for me, and I slide in.
He doesn’t say anything as we drive to the hospital to check up on Lorraine.
Four days have passed.
I opted to sleep in the guest bedroom.
The night I spent in Zayn’s arms was sin and pleasure. He carefully took me apart and put me back together in the most vicious of ways, and I loved it.
Those few hours gave me back my sanity. It calmed down the fear that was bubbling over, the sense of loss as I tried to fix my life, which was falling apart at the seams.
I needed his touch to anchor me back to reality.
But I haven’t expected to crave it so much.
That one night wasn’t an invitation to start a physical relationship with Zayn, and he knew it. However, every night, he would ask me, “Where do you want to sleep?”
And every night, I would hear my voice telling him, “The guest bedroom.”
He would leave his door slightly ajar, an open invitation, and sometimes when I tossed and turned at night, I wanted so desperately to get up and go
to him, to crawl into his bed, into his arms, to kiss the column of his throat, to beg him to take me again.
And yet, something held me back.
An odd fear that gripped me.
Trying to break out of my thoughts, I ask, “Has Lorraine said anything to the police yet?”
Zayn shakes his head. “The doctors have told her not to speak. But she doesn’t seem to remember anything from that night. They say the trauma was too much and she’s blocked the memory.”
I stare out the window. “Is that possible? Can you really block out the most traumatic memories?”
There is a wistfulness in my tone that he catches on to because I see the sharp look he aims my way. “Some people have enough strength to deal with it. Some don’t. To prevent themselves from breaking, their mind automatically protects itself.”
“So, why am I going to see her? I thought Zelda didn’t want me anywhere near her.”
Lorraine’s mother lashed out, refusing to allow me any contact with her daughter. She needed someone to blame, and she chose me.
I am, oddly enough, okay with it.
“I should have protected her.
“The police want you to meet her to see if it jogs her memory.” Zayn tells me.
I flinch inwardly. “Is that a good idea? If she’s not ready to deal with it…”
“If she got a good look at her attacker, the police can track him down, and both of you can feel safe.”
The words are flimsy, holding no meaning, and I know it.
His hand reaches out and curls around mine that lays in my lap. He picks up my hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles, his eyes still on the road.
A lump grows in my throat at the affectionate gesture that one would expect from a lover.
“My face was on the news tonight,” I say, lightly, trying not to show the concern budding inside of me that my livelihood is seconds from being ripped from my hands. “Well, part of it. I don’t think I’ll be able to open the studio yet.”
Zayn doesn’t say anything, and I continue. “I’m thinking of talking to Elijah. A relocation might be in order. The lease on this place hasn’t been renewed yet so it won’t be the worst idea. Also, maybe a new face. I could hire somebody to—”
“Why don’t you go back to law school?” Zayn says abruptly, glancing at me when we stop at a red light.
Startled at that, I don’t meet his gaze. “It’s too late now. I’ve got Mila and the business.”
“I’ve got Mila, too, Eve. I can support both of you. God knows I have enough money and more.” He sounds agitated, and I raise my brows.
“Going through school again is too much of a hassle, Zayn. But I don’t need you to put me through school. First, if I want to go to law school, I can do it on my own, and second, I’ve got too much other shit going on. Mila needs my attention. You just entered her life. There is so much you don’t know about her yet, or about parenting. It’s a two person job.”
“You did just fine,” he eyes me, and I try to find the complement buried under the scowl.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I opt to stare out the window. “Yes, well. I had help.”
The hospital is just around the corner, and Zayn’s eyes widen with annoyance at seeing the news vans outside the entrance. “What. The. Fuck.”
His growl vibrates through the car as he parks it at a distance. The reporters not having notice us yet.
“They must have figured out that Lorraine is being held here,” I mutter, uneasily, gripping the bottom edge of my seat. “This isn’t good. Maybe we should come back another time.”
After a few moments of silence, he turns to me. “Do you trust me?”
I blink at the question. “Well, uh, depends on the moment.”
He cracks a grin at that before his expression grows serious. “Well, do you trust me at this moment?”
I sigh, rolling up my sleeves. “Whatever it is you’re about to do, I know I’m not going to like it, but I’ll go along with it.”
The grin on his face is broad, and he reaches over and presses his lips against mine in a kiss that is mint and freshness, and that steals my breath, making the color rise to my cheeks.
His tongue presses against my lips, not asking for entrance, demanding it, and with a helpless moan, I part my lips.
He licks into my mouth, the action sending heat straight to my groin, and I whimper. When he pulls away, a satisfied look on his face, his eyes dark with desire, I try to gather my wits and then reach out to smack him in the arm.
“Ow,” he winces, more for show than for actual pain.
“Stop kissing me every chance you get.” My voice lacks bite.
Rubbing the spot which I know hasn’t even bothered him, he bares his teeth at me, eyes moving to my lips. “Then stop looking so damn kissable.”
It is my turn to wince now. “You can be so fucking corny at times.”
He leers at me, surprising a laugh out of me.
Multiple facets of personalities dwell inside him: the arrogant lover, the cold businessman, the child, the father. Underneath it all, the one constant that lurks is something dark, a cold, vicious thing that he conceals so well but he can’t manage to hide it from me.
It pleases me that he has trouble keeping his mask on when I am around as if I am the siren’s call to his darkness. It makes me possessive, and these feelings bother me.
Despite all that happened, a part of me is still resisting Zayn and although he is chipping away bit by bit with each touch, each kiss, I am holding steadfast to it.
I can’t help it.
“So, what’s the plan?”
The slow smile that forms on Zayn’s face makes me wish I hadn’t asked.
Twenty minutes later as we push through the doors of the hospital, I think I never felt so drained in my life.
“Tell me how this is a good idea again?” I hiss at Zayn who still has his arm around my waist.
A satisfied look on his face. “If we’re open about this, they have no story. Stories are found under the rocks. All we have to do is climb out from under it.”
“But Mila—” I begin, and he gives me a look.
“We won’t reveal that till we’re ready, till you’re ready. Let them make their own assumptions.”
We just took a few steps when I hear the shuttering click of a camera.
A portly man steps from a filing cabinet next to the nurses’ station.
“Mr. Wolfe, do give me a smile,” a soft accent says, something European.
I freeze at the familiar face. It takes me a few heartbeats to figure out where I saw him before.
When it hits me, I see red, rage flowing through me like something alive, twisting, curling, demanding blood at how gleeful this thing looked while Lorraine was near death’s door.
“You bastard!” I would have jumped on him if Zayn didn’t clasp a firm arm around my waist, preventing me from attacking.
“Now, now, darling,” Zayn’s lips brush the edge of my ear, his breath hot against me. “Too many witnesses.”
The fact that he is actually serious shocks me enough that some of the anger fades from my mind, enough that I am able to take stock of my surroundings.
“Mr. Donavon, I presume.” Zayn sounds so calm, his tone so pleasant, that if I hadn’t known him so well, I would have missed the cruel menace that coats his tone.
At this moment, he sounds so much like Elijah that I wonder if Zayn knows how many similarities he shares with his father.
His arm is like a steel band around me, and I am pressed tightly against him, my back to his chest. Anybody watching would see an overly affectionate couple.
Frank Mueller Donavon looks thrilled, however, and he immediately lifts his camera and snaps a picture of us, making me stiffen.
Zayn doesn’t seem bothered.
Frank lowers the camera and gives Zayn an assessing look. “You know my name.”
Zayn’s hand opens, wrapped possessively around
my hip, and he almost purrs. “You seem to know so much about me; it would be rude if I didn’t make the effort to get to know you. You’re quite a celebrity in your own circles.”
Seeing Frank preen under the carefully constructed words, it amazes me how he is unable to register the lethal undercurrent of venom in Zayn’s voice.
“You read my articles?” The reporter almost looks puppyish, an expression of hope and excitement on his face.
“Quite thoroughly,” Zayn assures him.
Seeing this as an opportunity, the man ventures, confidence in his voice. “So, would you care to comment on the attack on your girlfriend’s property?”
So suddenly I am moved from ‘whore’ to ‘girlfriend.’
The warning grip from the hand wrapped around my hip makes me swallow the words that I am about to spit out.
“Unfortunately not, Mr. Donavon. I would ask you to stop writing about Miss Taylor. You’re making it very uncomfortable for me to maintain a relationship with you demanding to be part of it.”
To Frank’s credit, he doesn’t look ashamed.
“Part of the job, Mr. Wolfe.”
Why is this starting to sound like a casual conversation over a cup of fucking tea?
Annoyed, my own fury rising in tempo, I carefully keep my face blank and step down on Zayn’s foot.
He doesn’t so much as wince.
Stunning blue eyes turn towards me and give me a cool look before focusing on the man in front of us.
“What did you think of my articles, Miss Taylor?”
I blink at the reporter, stunned at his fucking nerve.
My mouth opens, and I heard Zayn murmur in my ear, a warning. “Careful, Eve.”
I smile. “Pure and utter trash. If I want garbage, I will have just dig in the bins outside.”
Frank’s face turns white before red starts creeping up his neck, the sudden hurt transforming into a sneer. “I wouldn’t be so careless with my words, Miss Taylor. After all, it’s your story I’m telling the world.”
Despite the warning grip on me and Zayn’s obvious displeasure, I wag my finger at him with an easy smile. “How many times have you been sued for libel again, Frank?”