Mine

by Kenya Wright

  “I do.”

  “York texted that your team will be over in less than twenty minutes.”

  “Yes. It’s my team for makeup, clothing, and hairstyling.”

  “You don’t need it.”

  “But I look good with it.”

  “You always do, no matter what.” He gave me an intense gaze. It was Hunter’s way. He looked through and inside, taking parts of me with his eyes.

  I swallowed. “Again, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Good.” He left the bar, came my way, and handed the glass over to me. “Do you want to take a nap or something, before your team comes?”

  “No way. I barely sleep as it is.”

  “Not good.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  Hunter’s gaze narrowed. “You will.”

  Giving him a weak smile, I tipped back the glass and swallowed half of the hard liquid. When I finished, he appeared surprised I didn’t vomit it up. Granted, it burned my throat, but lately I’d been drinking more and building up a tolerance.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  Stunned, my words came out shaky. “Thank you.”

  The smile that spread on his face was one I’d never seen before. It was spontaneous and unguarded. A tiny break in his armor. Soon, his lips curved deeper, making it more of an intimate smile, like a treasured old picture of a lover hidden in a gold locket stored far, far away.

  Suddenly, I thought of the present I’d given him long ago. It must’ve been at least ten years since I’d bought it for him.

  I leaned my head to the side. “Do you still have the locket I gave you? It’s okay if you don’t. It was so long ago that—”

  “Of course, I do.” He pulled it out.

  My heart warmed. A silly grin hit my face. I tried to stop myself but couldn’t.

  His eyes narrowed in an utterly charming way. “I told you I wouldn’t lose it.”

  “It looks shinier and a little bigger.”

  “I had some modifications done.”

  I grinned. “You would.”

  “I had to make sure it stood the test of time.”

  I laughed a little.

  “Don’t laugh. I’m very serious about this locket.”

  “I think it’s adorable that you’ve had it for all these years.”

  “It’s the most special and important thing anyone has ever bought for me.”

  Shock seized my chest. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Zola,” he whispered.

  I tensed, waiting desperately for him to say more. Why did he whisper? Why did he look so stressed? Was it the killer? Or had I brought up some hard feelings with the mention of the locket?

  And more than anything, I wanted to reach out and touch those lips and ruffle that perfectly styled hair.

  That burning intensity increased in his gaze as he studied me. We stood there in silence, watching the other with amused expressions on our faces. And then something sparked. At least, on my end. An immediate sexual tension rose. It always happened when we were near.

  And I swore those blue eyes shifted from ice to fire as his gaze slid down my body, lingering on my legs. My pulse quickened. My nipples tightened and tingled. His gaze shifted to my mouth.

  A few seconds later, he frowned and turned away.

  Unsettled, I looked away too, unable to calm my erratically beating heart.

  An odd quiet continued to fall on us.

  After a few minutes, Hunter ended the silence. “What’s new, Zuzu?”

  I shook my head at the nickname. “A lot.”

  “Like?”

  Should I even go there? The day has been pretty shitty already. And then…he looked at me…that way. Fuck. I want to know.

  “Hmmm.” I finished my glass and headed over to the bar. “I missed you, for one.”

  Hunter stirred. I’d never seen him do that in all my time of knowing him. I arrived at the bar and grabbed the bottle he’d used.

  Whiskey? No wonder it burned.

  Hunter cleared his throat. “I missed you too, Zuzu.”

  I poured another glass, unhappy that the liquid courage effect hadn’t rained down on me yet. There was a huge elephant in the room, shitting all over the carpet and bumping into us. We had to talk about the real problem between us or these next days would be even more uncomfortable.

  So, I blurted it out, tired of tiptoeing around the one question that had been burning in my mind, since he returned in my life. “If you missed me, then why haven’t you emailed or called back?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  One of the beautiful things about Hunter was that he couldn’t lie to me. He made excuses to Mom and York, but with me, he steered the conversation another way or outright ignored it.

  I won’t push too hard, but you have to tell me something.

  He was injured in many ways. Hunter didn’t tell me a lot about what his mother did to him, but I would console him when he woke up screaming at night. I watched over him the few times he had to escape to his room and be alone. I would sneak in there, sit on the bed, be as quiet as I could, and watch.

  In some ways, I stalked him.

  Either way, I couldn’t push Hunter on his lack of communication like I would anyone else. Whatever made him avoid me was serious and internal. I didn’t know if I’d done something. Perhaps, I’d done things to remind him of his mother. My stomach twisted at the thought.

  No. It’s something else.

  “Maybe, I’ll be at Christmas this year,” Hunter offered.

  It wasn’t a sure thing, just a half-assed possibility. He was doing what he did, sliding out of dealing with the situation. It worked with Mom, but it wouldn’t with me.

  “Did I say or do something to you?” I asked. “You can always tell me.”

  “What?” He took a sip of his drink. “No, Zuzu. You could never do anything. Not like that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You could never say anything to make me want to hide from you.”

  Damn it. He’s lying. It’s all over his tongue.

  I eyed him. “Nothing?”

  “No.”

  “Then, let’s talk about this.”

  He clenched his jaw. “We are.”

  “Not really. I’m holding back.”

  “Holding back what?”

  “My anger.” I poured a little more into the glass.

  He scowled. “I think you’re good on the whiskey.”

  “Not yet, but almost.”

  I swore he growled over there as he took another gulp. When I finished pouring, I put the bottle up. I gestured to the couch and walked over to it. “We…we should just get it out.”

  “Get what out?”

  “Whatever is bugging you about me.”

  “It’s not about you.”

  “Ha!” I yelled and pointed at him. “Another lie. It’s totally about me. I can see it all over your face. So, tell me.”

  He frowned and sat across from the couch instead of closer.

  I crossed my legs.

  Just like in the dressing room, he drank in my legs. That shiver hit me. He snapped his attention up to my face as if he knew what I was wishing—that his fingers could touch every place his eyes did.

  Maybe, I should just leave this alone. This is really about me feeling butthurt about him ignoring me.

  He took a sip from his glass but didn’t offer any words. Yet, the whole time he watched me with an intensity I couldn’t explain. It was that same effect of looking through and inside me, but there was more to the gaze.

  No. I can’t leave this alone.

  I had to be very careful with Hunter. Careful of his feelings and gentle with my questions. But regardless of that, I couldn’t let this go on anymore. Something had to give. I needed him back in my life, and his coming to help me had shown this.

  “So?” I asked.

  Annoyance laced his voice. “Yes, Zuzu.”

  “I missed you.”

  �
��I missed you too.” His words came out dark and dripping with some other emotion. I couldn’t help it, but I licked my lips.

  Not a very sisterly thing to do, but it was hard to see him as my brother. From the moment he walked into our house playing with York, I thought he was a god. I followed them around just to get longer glimpses of Hunter. He became my real-life superhero, often sticking up for me at the playground.

  Later, when puberty kicked in, my superhero dreams of him became naughtier. I knew he could never be mine. I knew I would never force it. But I also knew that the past five years without him could never happen again.

  It wasn’t just that I missed him. Part of me withered away. Without him, I felt lonelier even though I was surrounded by people every day. And when I was alone, I spent those moments wondering about him.

  We’re doing this right now.

  “I need to know why you’ve been avoiding me for five years, and I’m not going to take any simple answer.” I breathed in and out. “One year avoiding me? Fine. Two years, and I would leave you alone. Three years, I’m now pissed. Four years, I’m wondering if you ever even cared about me all those times you said you did. Five years, and I’m brokenhearted over losing you.”

  I let out an exasperated breath, feeling like I’d been deprived of oxygen for several hours. A tiny bit of relief hit me that I’d finally gotten to say the words to him.

  Now what will he say?

  Hunter didn’t respond. Instead, he rose, walked over to me, plucked the glass from my hand, and rested it on the table next to the couch.

  Rising, I was about to pick it back up, but he towered over me. I stared up at him.

  He grabbed my wrist as if to keep me from reaching for the glass. It was the first time he’d touched me since we’d been reunited. He slipped his fingers along my wrist and then held my hand. “Zola.”

  “Yes?” I let go of his hand and stepped close to him, leaving only a few inches of space between us. And then, I pushed my chest into his as I got on my tippy toes. “Talk to me.”

  He closed his eyes and I swore he inhaled. And I had to confess that the closeness might’ve been too much for him, yet I couldn’t help but want his body near me.

  Warmth bridged between us.

  I won’t leave this alone, Hunter.

  I took a chance and hugged him.

  He relaxed in my hold and wrapped his arms around me too. “I’m sorry, Zuzu. I should have called you more.”

  “I don’t want to force you to talk to me. I just want to know, if I did something wrong.”

  “Never.”

  “That’s sort of a lie.”

  Sighing, he whispered, “How can you always tell?”

  “Because I can taste it.” I looked at him. “You can tell me anything. What happened that Christmas?”

  A dark chuckle left his mouth as he let me go. “Goddamn it. You don’t want to open up this can of worms. It’s better, if you leave it alone—”

  “What could you say that we couldn’t work out?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Tell me.” I gave him a weak smile. “Don’t you love me?”

  Again, that heated intensity hit his gaze. “Never doubt that.”

  “I love you too.”

  “But would you love me after a few dark confessions?” His nostrils flared. “Love comes with rules.”

  “It does not. There are no rules to love.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and began to walk off.

  “No way.” I tenderly grabbed his arm and stopped him. “You tell me now. I’ll accept it. I won’t judge. I won’t treat you any crazy way. Please. Trust me, Hunter. Trust me to not hurt you for simply being yourself.”

  His next words held an edge. “Goddamn it.”

  I refused to move or even blink.

  “Sometimes…” He turned to me with a scowl on his face. “Sometimes…I get aroused…when you’re around. Sometimes…I want you so bad, I could fucking kill someone.”

  With the slightest shift of his gaze, he met mine. He looked annoyed. And something else. Deep within his pupils, hunger mingled with lust.

  Holy shit!

  And for a moment, one careless, unguarded, unexpected moment, something flowed between us. It wasn’t resentment or fear, neither guilt nor anger. It was lust. Strongly sexual. Erotic in every way. Hot awareness set in and along with it, an undying sexual tension.

  9

  Cocaine and the Swell of Cleavage

  Hunter

  Zola stared at me in shock.

  Someone knocked at the door. I left her with her mouth open and went to answer it.

  I had to say it. What else could I do but admit it? And now, what would happen?

  I felt like killing someone. Not her, of course. But the stalker wouldn’t get a soft break with me. He would get a very hard break—on both arms and legs.

  Did I lose her? That’s all she needs is another wierdo, drooling at her body. She’s already got a stalker. Now the guy that’s supposed to protect her admits to wanting to fuck her.

  Room service rolled in with the food I’d ordered earlier. Another knock hit. Five people barreled in after—three women and two men. Tons of stuff filled their hands. Another set of women pulled in a large hanger cart full of dresses.

  I wasn’t excited about discussing this topic further with a bunch of people around. There weren’t many things that gave me a sense of vulnerability, but Zola was one. Everyone in this room needed to fear me, not see my soft side.

  “Sorry, we’re late.” A tall bald-headed man waltzed by and snapped his fingers at me. “You must be the new guy. Make me some champagne, please. My throat is dry.”

  I closed the door. “I’m not the bartender.”

  The guy didn’t hear me as he rushed for Zola. “Oh sweetie. You look like shit. I heard about the stalker.”

  Zola looked from me to him and then back to me. “Um, Alexander, could you give us a minute? We need to talk.”

  “There’s no time to talk, sweetie.” Alexander glanced at his watch. “We only have an hour and a half.”

  “I can be late.” Zola waved her hand at him and turned to me. “We should talk.”

  “No, darling.” Alexander would not be dismissed as he walked around her. “The execs gave me strict instructions. And as you know, I need that bag.”

  He rubbed his fingers together as if he was talking about money.

  Zola shook her head. “Just give us five minutes, Alexander.”

  My phone buzzed right on time.

  I pulled it out. “Zola, our conversation…will need more than five minutes. Let me take this now. You get dressed, and…we’ll find time to talk. Trust me.”

  She sighed. “Okay.”

  It was crazy that I’d been in many situations where I was close to losing my life, but this was one moment I couldn’t be a part of. Only God knew what Zola would say in response to my confession. I wasn’t ready for that. Sure, she’d be polite, but would things be different.

  Get some fucking courage, man. What’s the worst that could happen?

  I thought about it as I left the suite and closed the door behind me.

  I could lose Zola. No. Hell no. I wouldn’t let that happen.

  I sighed, letting that knowledge pour down over me. When it came to the idea of love—love of family, love of friends—fear bubbled in my chest. It was times like this when I had to remind myself that I had control.

  You won’t lose her. You’ve got control of this. If she acts different, then…

  I didn’t know, but I refused to think about the possibilities anymore. Shoving it out of my mind, I picked up the phone. “Yes?”

  Baptiste went straight to business. “I hopped on an early flight. Stark wasn’t so lucky. I met him later. We checked the apartment.”

  “Good.”

  “I figured you wanted this done fast.”

  “I do. Zola means everything to me.”

  “There’s been fingerp
rint lifts. We need a list of people who’ve been in and out of her apartment. The usual.”

  “I’ll get that to you by the morning.”

  “I’ve got an inside guy in NYPD forensics and a Zola fan. He’s going to run the semen that was found.”

  “Let me know what you get.”

  “Of course. I just wanted to keep you up-to-date.”

  “Good. Zola has an event tonight at a nightclub.”

  “You need us there?”

  “No.” I gritted my teeth. My head had gone foggy. If it had been anybody else, I would’ve already had extra men at the nightclub event. But I was too busy avoiding answering questions.

  It’s out now. It won’t be a distraction anymore. She knows. If she needs to talk more, we’ll do it and finish it. Regardless, I won’t leave her until the guy is caught. Whether she wants me to or not.

  “Hunter?” Baptiste said on the other line.

  “Yeah. I’m here.” I cleared my throat. “Just call me when you get something.”

  “I will. By the way, I lined Zola’s apartment with salt. I put a line in front of the windows and doorways. No demons will come in while she’s gone.”

  “O-kay. Thank you?”

  “We should sage the place too.”

  “Let’s get the psycho first and focus on the devil later.”

  “Sounds good. Just understand that you will have to deal with the devil eventually.”

  “Boy, don’t I know it.” I hung up and leaned against the wall, not ready to return to the suite where Zola was getting beautified—not that she needed it.

  What will she say? Will she understand? She’s beautiful and amazing. Young, though. And…she’s my sister in the nicest sense…in the sense that her family put faith in me to love her, do her right.

  I shut my eyes and thought about a happier time.

  We were young. I was fifteen. She was ten.

  Zola and I skipped rocks along a pond, loving the way they bounced and skittered by, leaving luminous rings on the watery surface. I had the rock skipping down to an art whereas Zola’s rocks tended to plop right in the center.

  We sat as usual, side by side at Jefferson Park, on her favorite bench. A greenish-blue pond spread out before us, outlined with newly bloomed lilies. Butterflies landed on several, appearing like dangling, moving décor to the flowers. And it was a windless day, yet the air ran cool with the scent of spring. I remember the smell of a bonfire somewhere far away, just as I remembered the sounds of nature—birds chirping, branches creaking, bees buzzing. We were the only noise out there.