by Zoey Parker
“I know,” I said in the most soothing tone I could manage. “A lot of shit is going down right now, but you’ll be okay, all right? Promise me you know that.”
Isabella shook her head. “I want to believe you,” she said softly. “But I can’t. I’m too afraid.”
“Stay there,” I cautioned. “I’m going to check the bathroom.”
There was a horrible smell coming from the bathroom and I realized the intruder had ripped one of Isabella’s towels into shreds and used it to plug the toilet. Holding my nose, I used the plunger to pull it out and toss it in the bathtub. The tub was filled with reeking water and lots of makeup, spilling in rainbow, oily smears across the water’s surface. Someone had really taken their time in her apartment. It looked like he’d gone from room to room, systematically destroying everything he saw.
In Isabella’s bedroom, the closet doors were flung open. Her clothes were cut to shreds on the floor and the plastic hangers were snapped, some still hanging by a broken hook. With a sigh, I glanced over the bed. The sheets and duvet had been ripped off the mattress and the mattress had been sliced through with a knife. Carefully, I ran my hands over the cuts. I wouldn’t have been surprised if whoever trashed her apartment had stashed a sharp object or two inside. But my hand only met with chunks of stuffing and exposed coils.
I shook my head. This was an insane amount of damage. I didn’t know Isabella well, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to afford fixing everything herself. Even if she had good insurance, that likely wouldn’t cover the cost of everything that had been done.
“Isabella,” I called. “Come in here.”
Her footsteps were light and cautious as she made her way back into the bedroom. She looked at me with her big blue eyes wide open and scared. “What is it?”
“Did you find a note? Anything?” I gestured around. “Some kind of a mark anywhere?”
Isabella shook her head. “I looked,” she admitted. “But I didn’t find anything.”
Sighing, I started combing through the ripped-up sheets and blankets on the floor. The pillows had been sliced open and every time I moved, feathers scattered in the air.
“I don’t think we’re gonna find anything,” I said darkly. “It’s probably for the best if we just leave now.”
Isabella sniffled. “I’m going to get some stuff,” she said. She blushed and looked down. “I assume I’m going home with you?”
I nodded. “You are. I’m glad you’re finally listening to me.”
Isabella’s blush deepened. “Okay,” she said softly. “Just give me a few minutes.”
I sat on the ruined mattress and watched as Isabella lifted pieces of clothing up, a disgusted expression on her face. “All of this stuff is ruined,” she said sadly. “I’m never going to be able to replace all of this.” Her voice broke and I realized she was crying again. “Oh, Zane, I don’t know what to do.”
“It’ll be okay,” I said gruffly. “Just get your shit together and we’ll leave. You’ll need new clothes soon anyway.” I glanced down at her belly. “New jeans, at least.”
Isabella blushed. She didn’t argue. I guessed she was finally starting to believe me. I was still angry with her for leaving, but her apartment would have been trashed either way. I was just glad she’d been at my place the night before when someone had broken into of her apartment.
“Thank you,” Isabella said softly. “I’ll pay you back, you know I will.”
I waved my hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it,” I said dismissively. “Everything will be fine.”
Isabella went in the bathroom and came back a few seconds later, looking discouraged. “Did you know they even ruined my toothbrush?” She made a face, holding up a melted stick of plastic. “Assholes,” she spat, throwing the object on the ground. “I can’t believe someone would do this.”
I laughed drily. “Oh, I can. Unfortunately, this shit is the tip of the iceberg. Someone wanted to warn you.”
“About what?” Isabella wrinkled her nose. “Why would someone be after me?”
For a moment, she looked so innocent and guarded that I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to tell her about Gianni, about how her father’s business had made some of the biggest sums of money for the family we’d ever seen. But the urge passed after a few seconds. Better just to leave her ignorant. If some asshole tried to kidnap her again, I couldn’t have her giving any information away.
“No idea,” I said flatly. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ll stop by the store on the way to my place and I’ll get you a new toothbrush. Just in case you had any thoughts about using mine.”
Chapter 17
Isabella
I couldn’t believe Zane was being so nice to me. First, he offered to replace all my clothes. Then, he told me he was going to buy me all new toiletries. I definitely needed them, but he could have asked me to buy that shit myself. I was surprised to see a different side of him, a side willing to take responsibility for me and our unborn child. Maybe I’d been wrong about Zane, maybe he wasn’t as bad as I thought.
“Come on,” Zane urged. “I haven’t got all day. We gotta get the fuck out of here.”
I rolled my eyes as Zane hustled me towards the front door. Almost all of my stuff had been ruined — even my prescription medication I sometimes took for sleep. I didn’t even know if I could take it now that I was pregnant, so I left it behind. The only things I took with me were a couple pairs of shoes, one pair of jeans that had been miraculously untouched, and a scarf. I shuddered when I thought of everything that had been ruined. I’d been hanging onto some of those clothes for years, since high school, even. It was depressing knowing I’d never be able to wear them again, that I’d have to go out and get a whole new wardrobe. I wasn’t so much upset about the clothes, but the idea that someone could just come in and destroy my life so quickly was really upsetting to me. Soon, when I moved out, my neighbors would forget me. It was like Isabella Bianchi would have never existed.
I shivered. I was thinking too much and getting weirded out. I always did that during times of stress. When I first thought my singing career was going to take off, I’d skipped lots of shifts at Maison Bridges for the chance to drive into the city and sing that night. If I never made it to the top of the list, I’d come home empty-handed. Then I’d be so tired I collapsed into bed, sometimes even still clad in my evening dress. But after a few hours, the narrative in my head would stay the same. Isabella, you don’t have any money. Isabella, they’re going to arrest you and drag you off to debtor’s prison. Isabella, you haven’t paid your credit cards and collectors are going to be calling you.
It was all the same. Time after time. I’d struggled like this for years without recognition. The most anyone could say about me was that I was a decent waitress, and I doubted Ricardo and Tammy would even say that. Maybe I deserved this, maybe I deserved everything that was happening to me.
Oddly enough, I wasn’t depressed about my apartment being trashed. It almost felt freeing, knowing I wouldn’t have to clean anything or take care of anything that had been ruined. By the time we got to the car, I was almost smiling. Sure, it was scary, but life was scary, and at least Zane was trying to take care of me.
“What are you grinning about?” Zane narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t you think today’s been fucking weird enough?” He laughed drily. “Or is this some pregnancy hormone shit? You know, I don’t understand you women. Not at all.”
I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand,” I said flatly. “Just…it’s kind of a weird, freeing feeling, you know? I worked my whole life to get everything that I have and now that it’s gone, I realize I didn’t actually care that much about my stuff.”
Zane snorted. “You women are fucking weird,” he said as he pulled open the passenger door of his Porsche for me to crawl inside. “If that had been me, I’d be freaking the fuck out right now.”
“But it wasn’t you,” I snipped. “And I’d think you would have been glad I did
n’t start crying again.”
Zane gave me a long look before getting inside the car and turning the key in the ignition. “I have enough shit on my plate to deal with,” he said. “And if I leave the house, I’m posting a guard with you. If someone’s out to get you, they wouldn’t stop at breaking into your apartment.”
I gasped. “You can’t be serious!”
Zane looked at me with a solemn look on his handsome, rugged face. “Try me,” he snapped. “I’m fucking dead serious, honey.”
I glared at him. “Sorry, I guess I’m just not used to things being this horrible,” I said, sticking my tongue out. “Most of the time, I don’t have to worry about anyone trying to kill me!”
Zane laughed; a deep, throaty sound. “Get used to it,” he muttered. “Especially if you keep hanging around me.”
I pouted and leaned back against the seat. Zane still hadn’t told me whatever it was he did for a living, and now I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know. None of this was making sense. Zane was clearly wealthy, and he obviously had something that made other people want to attack him. He had an incredible mansion, a luxury car, and, ostensibly, lots of free time. But this was New Jersey, for fuck’s sake! We didn’t have dangerous things around! It wasn’t like we had biker gangs, or lots of weird criminal activity. At first, I hadn’t even wanted to admit to myself Zane was involved in something that was likely illegal. But now…I gulped. Now, it was starting to seem like the only option.
“What do you do for work, anyway?” I looked over at Zane, screwing my face up and hoping desperately for a reply.
Zane laughed again. “Like I’d tell you. Trust me, it’s better that you don’t know.”
I folded my arms over my chest and slunk down low in the plush leather seat. I loved Zane’s car, I loved the sheer wealth it spoke of. The leathery seats felt like butter, and Zane even turned on the seat warmers for me when he noticed I was shivering.
“It’s nice, ain’t it?” Zane cracked a grin at me.
For the first time in days, I felt the slow, languid spread of arousal through my lower belly. I held back a smile. Zane reached over and slid a hand down my body, making me gasp as he touched my sensitive breasts. Unlike the water that morning, his touch didn’t hurt and I cried out for more after he’d taken his hand away. Lust stirred in my lower belly and I reached over the seat, fondling Zane’s knee and sliding my hand up his leg. Zane groaned and arched his hips. I could already see a massive erection springing up inside of his jeans and I smiled to myself. At least I haven’t lost that, I thought suddenly. At least I can still turn him on.
Suddenly, Zane jumped. I yanked my hand away like I’d been scalded. “What the fuck!” Zane shouted. “That guy about fuckin’ tried to run me off the road!”
“What?” I twisted around in the seat and craned my neck. “Zane, what are you talking about? I don’t see anyone!”
Zane slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt cut a hard line into my neck and chest and I cried out in pain. “There’s a fucking car right behind us,” Zane hissed.
Finally, I saw a late-model sports car. It was so close it was practically right on our tail. When Zane jerked to a stop, so did the other car. In a matter of seconds, someone leapt out and pulled out a gun.
“Don’t fuckin’ shoot!” Zane yelled. “There’s a fuckin’ pregnant woman in here, you asshole!”
I barely had time to look at the gunman before he held up the gun and fired through the window directly at Zane. I screamed loudly as the glass shattered. He ducked with his face pressed into his lap. Somehow, miraculously, there was no blood, and I realized he hadn’t been shot. Glass shattered into the car and I screamed again as the gunman reached through the broken window and tried to grab him. Zane struggled with all of his might — he was leaning back, holding himself at a distance — but even I could tell he was likely going to be overpowered. The gunman wasn’t even looking at me. My heart was pounding in my chest and every second that passed felt like a year.
“Get the fuck away from me!” Zane was yelling and trying to throw the gunman to the side when I twisted in my seat.
Part of me wondered if I should just shove Zane out the open door and drive away. Maybe it would be better to leave this part of my life behind me. It would be so easy, just sell the Porsche, fix up my apartment, get my life back on track. Stop thinking like that, I ordered myself. Zane saved your life. You can’t leave him behind. I shuddered as I realized that if I left, I’d be responsible for his death. While there were definitely a few instances over the past few weeks that I’d wished him harm or discomfort, I couldn’t live with myself if he actually died. I couldn’t do that to him. It would make me no better than the asshole who was shooting at us.
A flash of something metallic caught my eye and I realized there was a crowbar on the floorboards of the backseat. Without even realizing what I was doing, I reached down and grabbed it, wrapping my fingers around the metal and holding it close. Zane and the gunman were struggling. Their bodies were so close together that their grasp could have almost been mistaken for an affectionate hug. Rage and anger filled me and I raised the crowbar over my head, closing my eyes and slamming it down on the head of the gunman. He bleated once and paused, blinking before he continued to fight Zane. The gunman’s eyes looked crazed. A glint of something gold flashed around my face as he whipped his arms over his head and reached for Zane’s neck.
“Asshole!” I hissed under my breath as I swung the bar back and cracked it down on his head again. A loud, sickening thump reverberated throughout the car and finally the gunman flopped down with his head hanging inside of the car and his body hanging limp.
Zane turned to me in amazement. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”
I dropped the crowbar like it was burning me. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “What the fuck was that?”
I started shivering and shaking and Zane reached across the seat and stroked my cheek. “Thanks,” he muttered without meeting my eyes.
A small glow of pride ignited within me. I couldn’t believe I’d done something right for once. I’d saved Zane. I’d saved him. Me. Just me, all by myself. I shook my head. “I can’t believe I did that,” I muttered. “Who was that guy? Why would he attack us like that?”
Zane looked at me blankly. “After all the shit that’s happened over the past day, that’s what you’re asking me?”
I blushed a deep bright red. “Sorry. This is just really hard for me to take in. I don’t know what to do.”
Zane shook his head. “Don’t worry about that.” He sighed deeply. “I need to do something about him,” he said, gesturing to the body. “You definitely knocked him out, but I don’t know for how long.”
I took a deep breath. “Do you….do you think someone else would try to hurt us like that?”
Chapter 18
Zane
“What?” I blinked at Isabella. “What did you just ask me?”
She cowered, letting her blonde hair fan over her lovely face. “I asked if someone else would try to hurt us like that,” she said softly. “I mean, do you think someone could be coming? Like right now?”
I glanced behind me. The purple sports car behind us was still running. There was no one else inside. “We’ll talk about that later,” I said darkly. “You know we have shit to take care of right now.”
Isabella blinked. “What are you talking about?” She pulled out her phone and started dialing. “Zane, I’m calling the police!”
“No!” The force of my reply surprised even me. “Isabella, put the fuckin’ phone down.” She shook her head, looking guarded. When she didn’t move to comply, I grabbed it out of her hands and threatened to toss it out of the broken window.
“Zane, don’t!” Isabella screamed. “What if you need to get in touch with me!”
I shook my head. “Don’t fuckin’ call the cops,” I ordered. “That’s a fucking command, you got that?”
Isabella’s wide blue eyes blinked. “Zane,�
� she said in a shaky voice. “I’m really scared.”
I reached over and stroked her hair. “I know. But look, we’re running out of time. I gotta see who this asshole is.” Using all my might, I shoved the door open. The body slithered to the asphalt like some kind of prop doll. I glanced down at him. He was a nondescript, Italian-looking guy with tan skin and dark hair hidden under a ski mask that had been pushed up his face. Quickly, I got to my hands and knees and started checking his hands, face, and neck for tattoos. There was nothing. “Shit,” I mumbled. “Why couldn’t this guy have any fuckin’ ink?” In frustration, I ripped his shirt down the front. His chest was rising and falling in slow, even movements. I dug in his pockets, hoping for a wallet with a license inside. But there was nothing. I cursed loudly, forming my hand into a fist and punching the prone man’s stomach. He jerked slightly but didn’t stir on the pavement.