by Emelia Blair
So, I sigh, leaning back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling dully. “I know what it’s like to lose everything, Mom. And this happiness, it’s so fragile. I’m scared to ask him for more. What if he doesn’t want marriage? What if I end up losing him?” I turn to look at her, ignoring the pain in her face. “If I lose Zayn, I don’t think I can survive.”
The conversation ends abruptly when a knock on the door has us both looking over to see Zayn standing there.
I freeze, but from the distracted way he looks at us, I wonder if he overheard anything. “Fergus is sending lunch over. Do you want anything in particular?”
I shake my head.
But later that day, his kiss is sweeter, and I feel his eyes on me, thoughtfully, as I slowly move about the room, getting in my exercise.
The day of my actual discharge, Ron showed up with a reluctant Mark in tow.
My friend is now wearing red lenses, and I tell him that he is too old for that color.
He just shows me the middle finger and tells me that I wish I could pull off that look.
Zayn is getting my things together, and Mark is outside the room.
“So,” I ask, quietly. “Did you ever confront Mark over the things you found in his suitcase?”
Ron looks uneasy. “I did. I might have given it away while I was all drugged up. He said he was holding it for a friend.”
I snort. “That’s a lame excuse.”
Ron winces. “I might have asked him if he was a spy.”
“You didn’t!”
The mortification on his face tells me that Mark is still holding that over his head.
“He thought it was the cutest thing he ever heard.” He buries his face in his hands. “Then he asked me if I wanted him to dress up in a tuxedo and role play as James Bond.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
“Oh, that sounds absolutely terrible,” I console him, grinning.
“Shut up,” he says miserably, his cheeks red.
I gape at him. “You let him?”
“He’s incredibly hot, Eve! How could I say no to that?”
Zayn walks into the room to see me laughing like a loon and Ron’s face red as a button.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Eve’s a terrible person!” Rob scowls at him.
When I just laugh harder, he makes a face. “Like you and Zayn don’t have your weird sex games.”
That sobers me up. “Hey, don’t drag my man into this. Besides, his sex games are normal.”
Zayn looks offended now. “That’s hardly flattering, darling. I can be freaky if you want me to be.”
“See!” Ron gestures, triumph in his voice.
I am about to open my mouth when Elijah strolls in, casually.
“Elijah.”
“Elijah?”
Hearing the puzzled disbelief in Ron’s voice has me blinking. “Wait, what? How do you know who he is?”
To my knowledge, Ron never met Elijah.
Elijah stares at Ron before flicking a glance over to where Zayn is standing, a frown on his face.
“Ah,” Ron looks at me and then back at the older man. “Ah, he’s my sponsor. Put me through art school and then set me up in the apartment.”
I run my tongue over my teeth, glaring at Elijah. “You don’t say.”
Elijah meets my gaze, unflinching. “It was for your safety.”
I take in a deep breath for control. “This is why you didn’t want me revealing who you were to anybody.”
“A simple precaution.” The man has the audacity to smile.
“Who else did you insert into my life?” I ask slowly.
“Nobody important.” Elijah waves off my concern and then turns to Ron. “I received your latest art piece. I appreciate it.”
Zayn doesn’t look very happy, and I feel awkward, glancing at Ron, who stammers a ‘thanks.’
“How do you know Elijah?”
When he asks me that, I realize that he is in the dark as much as I am. That makes me feel considerably better. Explaining our relationship is a short affair, where I leave much of it unspoken.
“You could have told me.” Ron’s annoyance is evident, and Elijah raises a brow, silencing him.
“You know now. Besides, Eve no longer has need of a roommate.”
My ears turn red at that and Zayn makes an amused huffing sound, murmuring, “No, she doesn’t.”
Elijah is so deeply involved in our lives that I couldn’t find an ounce of anger in me.
“When you showed me the list of potential vetted flatmates, I should have figured it out,” I sigh.
Elijah’s looks smug. “I was surprised that you didn’t. But you and Ron were a good fit. I have played different roles in both your lives. I didn’t want them inter-crossing.”
I growl. “Ugh, I’m ready to go home now.”
Zayn agrees, shaking his head at his father.
As I pass by the older man, I murmur, “Thank you. For Ron.”
Elijah just inclines his head, a small smile playing on his lips.
“So, four more weeks, huh?” I watch Zayn unpack my things, scarce that they were.
“No heavy lifting for you,” he warns me. Then, with a grim look. “No sex, either.”
My smile slides off. “Wait, what?”
“Doctor’s orders. No strenuous activity.”
I gape at him. “But—”
Zayn moves over to where I sit on the bed and start removing my shoes. “Sorry, darling.”
“You don’t look very sorry,” I say, accusingly.
He grins at my comment. “Trust me, I am.” Then his face sobers. “For now, I’m just grateful you’re in one piece. Everything else doesn’t matter.”
I sigh. “I’m not a sex maniac, you know.”
His wink makes me chuckle. “I wouldn’t mind if you were. Come on,” he offers me a hand. “A relaxing bath will make you feel better. I’ll even wash your hair for you.”
I strip off my clothes, slowly, and his eyes darken at the bruising on my stomach and abdomen. He moves towards me, making me catch my breath at his sudden proximity.
His fingers are so delicate as they touch the black and blue on my skin. “I should rip his head off.”
The calm in his voice is terrifying, and I grab him by the hair, wrenching his head up. The creature looking at me from behind Zayn’s eyes wants the bloodshed.
“You’re not going to do that,” I order. “Thomas is going to prison. I’d rather he spend the rest of his life behind bars than you doing so.”
Zayn doesn’t say anything, and I tighten my grip.
He doesn’t wince.
“Promise me you won’t do anything. You’re not your father.”
That gets his attention, and he reaches out and disentangles my hands from his hair, and bringing them forward, he presses a kiss to both my palms, his eyes still on mine. “You have my word; I won’t.”
I sigh. “Let’s go see about that bath. I want to be pampered.”
He doesn’t grin at my words like he should have, and that worries me.
It is my third day home.
Mila is in school and Zayn went out to do something that he mumbled about on his way out.
To engrossed in my book, I pretended to listen and then went right back into the novel Sarah lent me. I haven’t had time for books or whatnot, and now with bed rest prescribed by the doctor, books and TV are my constant companions.
I find I quite enjoy reading novels.
Zayn was sorely disappointed when he discovered that none of the books I read contained racy scenes.
“I have you for that,” I told him sweetly, before kicking him out of the room because he kept wanting me to read aloud and would pester me with questions.
A phone call from Elijah has me slowly making my way to the front door.
“Henrietta,” I exclaim, pleased to see the older woman.
“Eve,” she greets me warmly, leaning over to kiss my
cheek. “I wanted to come earlier, but I couldn’t manage the time. Is the guard outside, new? He didn’t seem to recognize me.”
I shrug. “I don’t know much about the security here, except that it’s really tight. Would you like something to drink?”
She gestures at the basket she carries. “I brought food and drink for you. It was my day off, today, and I thought to visit you.” She sits down on the armchair next to the bed, facing the door, as I settle on the bed, carefully positioning myself. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“Well, you’re busy managing that huge house. I got the muffins you sent me. Zayn ate most of them,” I mutter the last part darkly.
“I had a feeling he would,” Henrietta laughs. “Which is why I brought some more for dessert. Along with those shawarmas that you like, and pasta salad.”
She takes out a sheet from the basket and lays it on the bed and takes out some cutlery, along with glass dishes.
When my phone beeps, I glance at it and frown.
“What is it, dear?” Henrietta sounds concerned.
I shake my head, my fingers moving over quickly on the screen, sending a reply. “My roommate’s boyfriend is coming over in a while to drop some things off. I don’t know why Ron can’t come himself,” I mutter the last part, mostly to myself.
Henrietta looks amused. “Ron’s a lovely boy. He sends me a painting each year for my birthday.”
“Is it that same vase painting?” I ask, dryly. “Because let me tell you, he gives me the same painting every year.”
A delighted laugh that is silver bells and infused with joy. “He did try that with me. I sent it back. Now, he sends me a painting of my choice.”
I grumble. “Meanwhile, my birthday is in two months and I just know I’m getting that same damned vase painting.”
Henrietta just laughs.
It is nice seeing her again. When Elijah took me into his home for a few weeks, Henrietta was always around, keeping me company. She taught me how to cook some easy recipes to give me something to do. Her company was warm and inviting, and I always felt at ease with her.
I am so lost in our conversation that I don’t hear the sound of the front door closing downstairs.
Henrietta does, however.
She blinks, asking casually, “Are you expecting anyone aside from your friend?”
I feel confusion at the sudden question. “No. Zayn’s going to come home in the evening. We’re alone.”
Her face immediately closes off, and she stands up abruptly. Her hand reaches into the basket she brought up with her and I jump when I see the sleek gun she pulls out.
“Uh, Henrietta, what is that for?”
“Sshh,” she puts a finger on her lips. “Someone just entered the house.”
Her voice is low and steady, and it hits me that it is impossible for someone who had lived so long in the same house as Elijah not to be half as dangerous as he is.
She moves towards the bedroom door, closing it quickly and locking it. Then, dragging the armchair, she leans it against the lock.
“Call Zayn and Elijah,” she orders calmly. “That’s not going to hold forever. Then, get behind me.”
I make the calls, and both men tell me they are on their way. Looking around for a weapon, I see the sword on display that Zayn told me is an actual katana. I arm myself with that.
The sound of the doorknob rattling has me clenching my teeth, gripping on to the slightly heavy Japanese sword.
Why the fuck does it look so heavy when it weighs around a kilogram?
“You’re sure they can break in?” I ask, anxiously.
Henrietta nods, grimly. “The chair is too thick to wedge under the knob. It’s just a matter of him picking the lock and pushing past the chair.”
I eye her gun. “You, uh, know how to shoot that thing?”
Henrietta smiles at that. “I taught Elijah how to shoot.”
I stare at the back of the woman who looks so harmless and was laughing with me just a few minutes ago.
“That’s—that’s pretty wow,” I mumble.
She just chuckles.
Her eyes, however, are trained on the door, her gun raised as she holds it with both hands.
The sound of something metal scraping along the lock.
I swallow and realize my throat is dry.
Fear? Anticipation?
“The house is guarded.” I hiss. “How could anyone just waltz in?”
Henrietta doesn’t get a chance to reply because with a shove, the door opens with a bang and the armchair goes sliding across the floor.
One look at the person on the other side has me blinking and lowering the katana in disbelief.
The person on the other end just smiles, entering the room, a Glock aimed at Henrietta.
21
Zayn
The woman in front of me flashes her teeth in a lovely smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you looking so handsome, Zayn.”
Aging isn’t a concept Sheila ever planned to embrace, it seems.
She looks as graceful as ever.
“I’m not here on a social call, Sheila,” I tell her, making her raise a brow.
“Then why are you here?” She unfolds her legs in a smooth movement. “I must admit I am surprised to hear from you, considering you now have a family.” She eyes me. “Or is your little dance teacher not satisfying enough in bed?”
I hear the double-edged question and narrow my eyes. “No games, Sheila. You have the dates in front of you; where were you on those days?”
She doesn’t bother to glance at the paper, lightly touching a golden curl that escaped her perfectly coiffured bun. The black nightgown she wears is draped elegantly over her, showing glimpses of unblemished skin, skin that I was intimately familiar with once.
“Why are you asking, again?” she questions with a sly smile.
I lean back in my chair and give her a smile of my own. “Don’t answer my question. I want to spare you the police interrogating you and the media getting a whiff. Especially since I know you’re being considered for a huge movie deal.”
Her pretty face remains smooth, but I see the tightening in her eyes as she says softly. “Threats, Zayn?”
My lips just curve, no humor in my eyes. “For old times sake.”
She then glances at the list and purses her lips. “I’ve been out of the country for the past two months. Traveling with a very prominent politician who wouldn’t like to be named.”
“Can you prove it?” I ask challengingly.
She gives me a faint smile and then stands up before gliding across the room to retrieve a gold-embossed album. I am surprised to see it, especially in the age of digital photography.
She must have seen my look because she shrugs. “I’m not very fascinated by the digital realm, past my work.”
She opens the album and shows me the last few pictures. All of them are time stamped.
A small yellow dress, a smile on her face, one that I never saw before as she held onto her floppy hat.
I stare at the picture. “You look happy.”
She shrugs. “I am.”
I recognize the man in the photograph and raise a brow. “You can’t be serious.”
“The heart wants what it wants, Zayn. Besides, he’s good to me and for me.”
The softness in her eyes tells me everything that I need to know.
Sheila isn’t behind any of this.
There is still something missing, a niggling feeling in the back of my mind.
“Has somebody recently contacted you, about our relationship?” I ask sharply.
Sheila closes the album. “You mean aside from that horrid reporter? We haven’t been together for years, Zayn.”
“What reporter?”
A snide look comes to her face. “The pudgy one that always looks like he’s trying to please you. He used to follow us around when your first club launched, don’t you remember? He took a picture of me, and you broke his nose an
d threw him out.”
“Frank Donavon?” I ask, slowly.
Sheila shrugs her delicate shoulders. “I don’t know his name, but he has a knack for getting into the most impossible of places.”
Just then, my phone rings and I glance down to see Eve’s name on the caller ID.
My blood is pumping wildly as I stop in front of the gates to my house, recognizing Elijah’s car in the distance. There is another car parked haphazardly outside, the door still open.
Nobody opened the gates.
Fear an avid motivator, I jump out of the car and insert my key into the side door of the gate, leaving it open for Elijah.
My gun in my hand, I run down the driveway, hating myself for building such an elaborate house.
A shot in from inside has me pushing myself.
Oh dear God, not Eve!
My chest aches with the sense of growing dread and loss.
I can’t lose her!
Adrenaline makes me run faster and I push through the open front door, rushing into the house.
The sound of raised voices and another gunshot followed by a sharp, pain-filled cry, along with a small scream that I recognize, has me running up the stairs two steps at a time.
Mark stands in the doorway of my bedroom, his gun raised and I howled in fury, raising my own weapon. “Get away from them!”
He sees me, and his eyes widen as he takes a step back. “No, I—”
I fire and he hisses as the bullet grazes him.
I aim again, advancing, ready to commit murder, my blood cold.
He took my Eve from me.
He doesn’t deserve to live.
“Zayn, stop!” my father shouts from behind me. “He’s one of mine!’
I freeze.
What?
Mark is panting, but he doesn’t aim his gun at me, his eyes fixed on me.
“What do you mean he’s one of yours?” I ask dully.
“He works for me. He’s one of my most trusted men. Now put down your gun!” Elijah sounds closer, and I lower my gun.
“Eve?” my voice is broken.
Mark swallows, gesturing towards the bedroom with his chin.