by Emelia Blair
I blink. “What is?”
“An attack on Ron Christenson, Eve’s roommate, except that it says that he shot himself high in the airport. That’s not all.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel, my voice deceptively soft as I wrap the leash tighter around my barely controlled anger. “Oh, no?”
Agatha sounds grim. “They’re calling him Mila’s birth father. They got her name. Entertainment Tonight is also blasting Eve as an irresponsible parent who chose to live with a drug addict and who’s exposed her child to such a man. She’s being thrown under the proverbial bus because her connection to you is being labeled as the alleged ‘baby father’ pimping her out. There’s more, Zayn. And it’s really bad.”
I glance at the way Eve’s hand curls under her seat, her face white as a sheet.
“Who’s the source?” I finally manage to grit out.
“Who do you think?” Bitterness and helpless anger are woven into my friend’s voice. “Frank Donavon.”
16
Eve
The roaring in my ears won’t stop as I stare at the woman standing in the living room. Tall, thin, and imposing, she watches me like a hawk. The two police officers next to her make me tighten my hands on Mila’s shoulders.
“You can’t be serious?” I say hoarsely, staring at the child social worker.
Zayn is on the phone with somebody, and I am flanked by three women, one of them Agatha.
Sarah, Fergus’s wife, is a short woman with long brown hair that is tied in a messy bun on top of her head and mesmerizing green eyes that glint fiercely at the moment. Charlotte is a lovely, tall brunette who stands next to Agatha. Her husband, Philip, along with Fergus and Ian, are in the other room. One of them is attempting to calm Zayn down, who looks ready to rip apart these strangers who have, in the span of a few hours, turned our life upside down.
The social worker, Bertha, frowns. “We have no choice here.”
“It’s gossip, tabloid trash!” I hiss.
“Mama?” Mila holds on to me, scared, and I clench my fingers helplessly in her shirt.
“It’s fine,” I try to reassure her, my tone unsteady. “It’s going to be okay. Nobody is taking you from me.”
One of the policeman sighs. “We have photographic evidence of your daughter in the company of two males—”
“Yes, my roommate and his boyfriend. Ron raised her!”
Agatha puts a hand over my shoulder, and I fall silent. She takes a step forward. “You can’t expect me to believe that an anonymous complaint and tabloid articles can be used as a legitimate reason to separate a child from her mother.”
The other policeman’s jaw hardens. “With the incidents taking place, it is also in the girl’s best interest to be placed—”
“That’s not your fucking call to make!” I snarl.
The room falls silent till Bertha interjects with what she probably supposes is a soothing voice. “Miss Taylor, we didn’t just get up and come here. We did our own investigating before we decided on this step. We spoke to your family lawyer. He made some claim—”
My face turns ashen at hearing that.
“You talked to who?” My legs turn to jelly.
“Your family lawyer,” the woman says again, speaking slowly. “As well as your parents. They, too, felt—”
“My parents cut ties with me five years ago!” My voice is loud, a note of hysteria creeping in. “And Thomas is a manipulative bastard! Everything he says is a lie.”
The words have just left my mouth when a movement in my peripheral vision has me looking over to see Zayn staring at me, digesting this piece of knowledge that I just declared to the room.
“You were labeled as slightly unstable with—”
I take a step back and feel Charlotte, this unknown woman, put her hand on my arm, a steely grip. My body feels numb. “My parents said I was unstable?”
“Mr. Richards did,” the social worker corrects. “He mentioned that he feared for your daughter’s life.”
Anger rushes through me, hot and cold, fury so deep that I can’t calm it down.
“Did he also tell you he threatened my daughter’s life?” I bare my teeth at the woman who looks startled. “Or did he very conveniently leave that out?”
Bertha exchanges an uneasy look with the police officers that accompanied her to remove Mila from my care.
I hear a rumble in the air, wretched in its fury, but I don’t look back at Zayn.
Thomas is a piece of my history that I wanted to bury. Betrayal singes my soul at the thought of my parents sitting and nodding along with whatever bullshit story that bastard told them.
After all, hadn’t they chosen to believe him the first time when they kicked me out in the streets with not a penny to my name?
I feel Zayn’s presence more than see it as he comes up behind me. I feel Agatha move to the side, as well as Charlotte, and now it is just Zayn and me staring at these people who barged into our home tonight to take away our child.
“Henry’s on his way.” Philip’s voice is sharp as he enters the room, followed by Ian and Fergus. Slowly, we are flanked by these people that hold loyalty to Zayn in their blood.
This wasn’t what I expected when we returned to Zayn’s home, Agatha insisting she would meet us here. I saw the articles, the images, the slandering lies that Frank painted of Mila and me. Where he hasn’t attacked Zayn even once, he went after me, my daughter, my friend, ripping our reputations apart. Pictures of Mark and Mila, images of Ron and me, snippets of words that are from a source I dared not believe at that time. But I do now.
Ron’s image from the bathroom leaked faster than we imagined, along with jealous words from competitors that paint him in a negative light. The online version of Tattle Buzz is aflame as well, as the renowned business tycoon is being hoodwinked.
When the doorbell rang, and I went to answer, I hadn’t been expecting a social worker standing there with the police.
Right now, I can see that the woman doesn’t believe me.
“Elijah,” I whisper, my mouth dry. “Elijah can back up everything I’m saying.”
When Zayn stiffens at my side, I think for a moment it is because of his dislike for his father, till Ian asks, “Who’s Elijah?”
That tears me out of my fear, and I shoot a startled look at Zayn, whose face is blank, his eyes not meeting mine.
I swallow, not wanting to give away what seems to be a secret. “My friend. He helped me out a few years back.”
“Call him,” Fergus says.
“There won’t be any need for that,” comes a calm voice from the hallway as the man in question steps into the living room, dressed to the nines in an impeccable suit, his cold blue eyes flashing dangerously.
Sharp intakes of breath are the only indications that the undeniable resemblance between Zayn and the older man hasn’t gone unnoticed.
“Who’re you now?” The social worker’s tone is bordering on unpleasant.
In a slow movement, Elijah tucks his hands elegantly into the pockets of his pants, staring down the annoyed woman. “The child’s grandfather.”
“I met the girl’s grandfather,” the social worker hisses.
Elijah smiles amiably, eyes full of carefully concealed venom. “I’m her paternal grandfather. With a more active role in her life.”
“Well, fuck, Zayn.” Ian makes a strangled noise, and Agatha looks pale with shock.
However, everybody knows now isn’t the time to discuss what is Zayn’s very well-kept secret.
“If you have to remove Mila from this house, as her next of kin, I’ll take her,” Elijah says, smoothly.
I start at that. “But—”
He quells me with a single glance.
Oddly enough, Zayn doesn’t say a word.
The social worker hesitates now. If close family is willing to take over the child’s guardianship, she can’t say no unless she has a legitimate reason.
I clutch Mila to me, my legs shaking
with relief.
Till this is sorted out, Mila will be safe with Elijah. Anything other than a foster home.
“I can, however, vouch for Eve’s character and her background.”
“A proper investigation has to be done,” Bertha mutters, hostility clearly evident in her tone. “Your vouching is useless till this home environment is deemed safe for the child to return.”
“Is that so?” The silky undertone in Elijah’s voice has the hair on the back of my neck rising. “Then, please, tell me how authentic your sources were before you chose to descend on my son’s home and try to rip his family apart.”
If there was any doubt in Zayn’s friends’ minds about the exact nature of the relationship between Zayn and Elijah, it is now out in the open.
Bertha struggles, indignation in her voice. “We received an anonymous tip a few days ago, along with photographs. Even if that weren’t enough, the interviews with her family and the family lawyer, the events in the news, even from today, show that this isn’t a safe environment for the girl.”
“And you decided to show up in the middle of the night?” Elijah blinks at her, slowly, like a predator sizing up his prey. “Without warning or a phone call?”
The woman stutters. “I’m just doing my job.”
Elijah takes a step towards her and the policemen next to Bertha immediately reach for their holsters, feeling the menace in the room. They are disregarded almost immediately.
“Then why are there reporters on the front lawn?” The question is uttered in a lethal voice. “Reporters who know exactly why you’re here.”
Bertha pales, and then a slow flush creeps up her cheeks as she lies blatantly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Without removing his eyes from her, the older man says. “Mr. Sawyer, would you be so kind as to look out the window and count the reporters outside?”
Ian blinks at the command but he doesn’t hesitate in striding over to the window and parting the curtain slightly before making a sharp sound. “Too many.” After a few seconds. “I see thirteen.” He pauses. “No, make that fourteen.” A knowing glance in the social worker’s direction as he says slowly, “Almost as if someone told them beforehand.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the woman snaps, and I see a bead of sweat fall down the side of one of the accompanying policeman’s face. Both men look reasonably young.
“You wanted a mediafest?” I choke out. “You were going to use my daughter to get your five minutes of fame? You bitch!”
Pushing Mila into Agatha’s arms, I lunge at the woman only to have Zayn snatch me by the waist and draw me into his chest.
My nails dig into his arm that is banded around my waist and I scent the metallic smell of blood. I find that I don’t care as I swear. “Let me go, Zayn. I’m going to rip her eyes out.”
He tightens his hold on me, breathing in my ear. “Let Elijah deal with her. We have other shit on our plate.”
He dislikes his father and yet trusts him?
The sound of banging on the front door has Philip moving to let in a tall man with dark hair in a sharp suit covered by a trench coat, who is introduced as the Police Commissioner. Sharp green eyes study the situation, and when they go to rest on the two young policemen, the nervous looks on their faces reveal that this might not have been a very well-thought-out plan.
“Care to explain yourselves, officers?”
Henry Chapman has an intimidating presence, and while the two men stammer out that they were contacted by child social services and they were just doing their jobs, I can see from his face that he isn’t buying into their bullshit.
“Does their case have any legitimacy?” Zayn finally speaks up, his eyes on Bertha, pinning her to the spot.
Henry frowns. “It’s very flimsy. Anonymous tips, interviews with people who haven’t been around for years; it’s utter bullshit.”
I feel like something dislodged in my chest, allowing me to breathe again.
Bertha draws herself to her full height, her eyes flashing. “I’ll have you know that if I deem the child to be in an unsafe environment, I have every right to remove the child—”
“But you’re not removing the child,” Elijah cuts her off, his upper lip curling. “My granddaughter is coming with me if she’s going anywhere.”
The social worker clearly does not like the idea.
It is at that moment that Henry takes notice of the man in three-piece suit and his eyes widen fractionally and he breathes out. “Well, shit. Elijah Wolfe.”
A quick glance at Zayn and he connects the dots. “Fuck, Zayn. What the fuck? Your father is Elijah Wolfe?”
“Not now, Henry,” Zayn snarls.
Elijah, however, smiles. “Give my regards to your father, Henry.”
The police commissioner gives him a nasty look before turning his attention to the two police officers. “I want a report back at the station. Leave.”
One of the men starts. “But, Sir—”
“Did I stutter, officer?”
The man swallows and steps back.
Henry rounds towards the social worker. “As for you, you have no case here. It’s flimsy, built on nothing substantial. With all the media frenzy taking place around this couple, fake tips are to be expected. Aside from that, if the relationships of Miss Taylor and her daughter with the men in the photographs have been established, on what grounds are you still harassing them? I’d like your badge number, and your supervisor’s number while you’re at it.”
The woman protests, but she has no choice but to hand over the information.
Zayn hasn’t let go of me throughout. With one hand he holds me, the other is holding Mila’s hand now, as if physically forcing our family to stay together.
Escorting the disgruntled social worker out, Henry eyes Elijah silently for a few moments before leaving.
“Well,” Elijah raises a brow. “That was certainly interesting. Are you all right, Eve?”
I nod, slowly. “That fucking bitch.”
“Language,” Elijah says, mildly.
I grit my teeth and feel Zayn release me.
“How did you know?” The words are barely out of my mouth when Zayn answers, quietly.
“I called him.”
Elijah gives him a fond look, mixed with approval, before finally saying, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet Zayn’s friends. Although, the circumstances could have been better.”
Everyone in the room gives him uncertain looks before murmuring polite words.
Mila rushes towards him, and Elijah leans over and picks her up in his arms, asking soberly, “And you, my little Mila? How do you fare?”
Mila buries her small face in the crook of his neck, her arms around him.
Mila knows her grandfather better than she knows her father and right now she is seeking comfort from him as well.
Zayn doesn’t object. “I want to have a word with you tomorrow.”
Elijah nods over Mila’s head. “Of course.”
It takes a while for Mila to agree to let go finally and Agatha offers to put her to bed. I am too worked up, and I don’t want to agitate her even more. Between Charlotte and Agatha, who offer pleasant distractions to my baby, I stare after them as they take her upstairs.
“Is this ever going to end?” I ask, my voice sounding hollow to my ears.
“It will,” confidence oozes from Elijah’s voice. “I have an urgent matter to attend to, so I have to take my leave.”
He leaves as elegantly as he arrived and once alone with Zayn and his friends, I grasp Zayn’s hand, knowing what is about to follow.
Philip sits down on the couch, staring at Zayn. “Your father’s alive. How long have you known?”
Zayn meets his eyes head on. “Since before I met any of you.”
Ian grits his teeth. “You didn’t think to tell us?”
I feel the way Zayn’s hand tightens on mine. “Elijah is my father by blood. We don’t have any relationship as such.”
“Still,” Ian curses. “There was no reason to hide this from us. Besides, he was definitely acting very fatherly towards you right now. Coming to your rescue and all.”
Zayn growls. “He came to Eve’s rescue, not mine.”
It is Fergus who doesn’t burst out in indignation like the rest. His voice is quiet. “What else are you not telling us, Zayn?”
I feel Zayn’s unease.
I squeeze his hand so hard that I might have stopped his blood flow, but I don’t know any other way to tell him that I am right here.
I feel his glance on me before he admits, slowly, “Elijah found me under ‘complicated’ circumstances. I don’t ever want to talk about them. He erased my past, offered me a blank slate, and I agreed. But that meant that what happened in the past remained buried there. He was the one who sponsored me in school. But that was all it was. There was no relationship between us, just a detached one. You guys should know. I was with you every Christmas, Easter, summer break.”
It is Sarah who speaks now, her voice soft. “What does Elijah do, Zayn?”
Zayn’s head shoots up, and he meets Sarah’s gaze. “How do you think eradicating the Silver Serpents was so easy?”
Sarah’s lips part and understanding dawns on her face.
“Your father runs a gang?” Ian asks.
Zayn snorts. “He doesn’t run a gang. He runs the underground. He regulates all this shit. Looking at it from a food chain’s point of view, at the top of the food chain is the government; but on top of the government is him.”
Philip makes a small sound, which I ignore in favor of trying to wrap my head around this information.
“He’s a very dangerous man. He lives by his own set of principles and rules. But he’s so fucking well connected that nobody can touch him.”
“Making him the proverbial emperor,” Fergus murmurs.
Zayn gives him a look. “I’m not my father. And I refuse to stand in his shadow. If I had it my way, you guys would have gone your entire lives not knowing about him.”
Nobody says a word.