Chapter 14 - Zara
I’ve kept my cool all morning and afternoon, but now something tells me he could be in trouble. My heart pounds as I pace the marble floors of Abram's duplex, my heels slapping against the cold stone. I have so much nervous energy pent up that I feel every atom on my skin radiate. I check my phone for the hundredth time—no new messages, no missed calls. Nothing but silence.
Wherever the hell could he be? He never came back last night. This morning, I saw his bed unmade. When I called, I got no response. Lunch came and passed. No response.
After the whole Tatiana fiasco, Abram’s never pulled a stunt like this. I trust him enough to know he would have called if he could. Something very serious must have happened for him to maintain such cold silence. He’s never gone this long without making contact.
My calls become more frantic, texts more frenzied.
Now, the sun’s about to set.
The worry gnaws at my insides, twisting my stomach into knots. It's been a whole day of unanswered texts and calls that go straight to voicemail. I run situations through my mind, thinking of what my next steps could be.
A snippet of our conversation from the previous night comes to mind. He’s left important numbers on the fridge.
I rush over and hunt through the list until at last, I see a name and title for his secretary at the office.
I dial his office, my fingers trembling. "Abram Zolotov’s office, how may I help you?"
The clipped tone of his assistant brings me little comfort. I recognize the voice from back when I was coordinating shipments while decorating Abram’s home. Why didn’t I think to call her earlier?
"It's Zara. Zara Lyons. Is Abram there?"
"I'm afraid Mr. Zolotov hasn't come into the office today. I haven't been able to reach him either."
Panic rises in my throat, sharp and acrid. "What do you mean you can't reach him? Where is he?"
"I apologize, but I have no information about Mr. Zolotov's current whereabouts."
The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone in my hands, willing it to ring. But silence envelops me, broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing. My mind runs to the worst possible scenarios. What if something happened to him? What if he’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere or in a car accident, and no one knows?
I close my eyes, trying to quell the rising panic. There has to be an explanation. But until I hear his voice, feel the warmth of his arms around me…I won't rest easy.
I can't sit here and wait any longer. I need answers, and I need them now.
"Enough," I mutter to myself, pushing off the couch. "I’ll simply have to find him myself."
I rush over to the key hanger near the hallway. My fingers tremble slightly as I grab my keys, the metal cool against my palm.
There’s only one place I could find answers and so, I turn toward Abram's home office.
The door creaks as I push it open, the sound amplified in the quiet house. I hesitate on the threshold, guilt warring with determination. This is a violation of his privacy, but the fear of losing him overrides everything else.
I slip inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim, fading light filtering through the windows. Abram's scent lingers here—leather, whiskey, and something uniquely him. It wraps around me, both comforting and painful.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, approaching his massive oak desk. "But I need to know you're safe."
My hands shake as I pull open the top drawer. Pens, notepads, nothing unusual. The second drawer yields similar mundane items. I bite my lip, frustration mounting.
"Come on, Abram. Give me something."
I move to the filing cabinet, rifling through folders. Business contracts, financial reports—nothing that could give me a lead.
My hand hovers over the last hope I have, a final drawer at the bottom of his desk. I yank it open, already making peace with disappointment, preparing myself to find nothing.
But then, my breath catches. I spot a folded piece of paper tucked beneath a stack of innocuous documents. Heart pounding, I carefully extract it, unfolding it with trembling fingers. An address is scrawled in Abram's distinctive handwriting—a location I don't recognize in a part of the city I've never visited. And right above it, two words. The hideout.
The hideout? Why ever would he need a hideout? My heart races as though I’m holding a loaded weapon I don’t want to test. I tell myself it could be an inn or a restaurant, but even as I do, it feels like a lie.
I clutch the paper tight in my trembling grip, my entire time with him flashing through my mind. He never told me what his family business is. He knows some of the most powerful people in the world. The media hounds him. And he has a hideout.
I know, deep in my gut, that this address is the key to finding Abram. But what will I discover when I get there? For a brief second, I wonder if I should stop this now and here. Just wait for him to return, in fear of what I might find once I reach this hideout.
But then again, a larger part of my heart struggles to know he’s safe.
Without a second thought, I follow my impulse. I pocket the paper and hurry out of the office. I slide behind the wheel of my car and press my foot to the pedal.
***
The city streets blur past as I drive, my mind a whirlwind of questions and fears. What if he's in trouble? What if he's hurt? Or what if he's deliberately keeping other secrets from me? Whyever would have a hideout? What could all this mean?
"No," I mutter, shaking my head. "He wouldn't do that. There has to be an explanation."
But as I navigate through unfamiliar neighborhoods, each turn taking me further from the glittering city I know, doubt creeps in. The Abram I love is gentle, protective. But there's always been an edge to him, a darkness I've sensed but never truly confronted.
"What am I walking into?" I wonder aloud, my voice small in the confines of the car.
The streets grow narrower, the buildings more dilapidated. This is a part of the city Abram would never let me visit alone. Yet here I am, driving into the unknown, chasing the man who's become my entire world.
"Please be okay," I whisper, a prayer to whoever might be listening. "Please let me find you."
The car slows as I approach the address, my heart pounding in sync with the idling engine. Before me looms a nondescript concrete building, its facade a patchwork of graffiti and peeling paint. Windows, dark and lifeless, stare back at me like hollow eyes. A chill runs down my spine.
"This can't be right," I murmur, double-checking the scrap of paper clutched in my trembling hand. But the numbers match.
I kill the engine, the sudden silence oppressive. There’s a weird vibe to this whole place that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. Across the street, a flickering streetlamp casts eerie shadows, transforming innocent trash cans into lurking figures.
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the car. The cool night air carries the faint scent of decay and something metallic. My heels click against the cracked pavement as I approach the building, each step echoing in the deserted street.
"Abram?" I call out softly, my voice barely above a whisper. No response.
I reach for the door handle, its cold metal biting into my palm. It turns with a rusty groan that seems to reverberate through the entire structure. Hesitating at the threshold, I peer into the inky blackness beyond.
What am I doing? I think to myself. There could be dangerous people here. This is insane.
But the thought of Abram, possibly in danger, propels me forward. I step inside, the darkness swallowing me whole. The musty air fills my lungs, carrying the scent of dust and something else—something coppery and unsettling.
As my eyes adjust to the gloom, vague shapes emerge—discarded furniture and piles of debris. Shadows dance at the edge of my vision, playing tricks on my mind.
I take another step, my shoe crunching on something. Glass? I can't tell in this darkness. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps as I strain to hear any sign of life.
And then a muffled thud echoes from somewhere deep within the building, followed by a choked cry that sends ice through my veins. My feet move of their own accord, drawn to the sound like a moth to flame.
As I round a corner, harsh light spills from a partially open door. The metallic scent grows stronger, mingling with sweat and fear. I edge closer, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Tell us what we want to know," a familiar voice growls—Abram's voice, but colder than I've ever heard it.
I peer through the crack, and the scene before me steals the breath from my lungs. Abram stands tall, his broad shoulders taut with tension. Beside him, Vladimir's wolfish grin gleams in the harsh fluorescent light. Between them, a man slumps in a chair, his face a mess of bruises and blood.
"I… I don't know anything else," the man sobs, his words slurred through swollen lips.
Abram's hand shoots out, gripping the man's jaw. "Wrong answer."
I watch in horror as Abram's fist connects with the man's stomach. The sickening thud of flesh on flesh echoes in the room, followed by a wheezing gasp.
This is a nightmare, I think, unable to tear my eyes away. This can't be real.
Vladimir chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Brother, make him sing."
Abram nods, his face a mask of cold fury as he reaches for something on a nearby table. The glint of metal catches my eye—pliers.
"No," I breathe, bile rising in my throat.
But he can't hear my near-silent protest. As he approaches the trembling man, I see a stranger wearing my lover's face. This isn't the Abram I know—the one who holds me tenderly, who laughs at my terrible jokes. This is someone else entirely, someone dangerous and cruel.
"Last chance," Abram says, his voice devoid of emotion. "Where is the shipment?"
The man's terrified whimpers fill the air, and I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle my own cry. How could I have been so blind? How could I not have seen this darkness lurking beneath Abram's surface?
As Abram raises the pliers, a sob escapes me, muffled but unmistakable in the tense silence.
My heart hammers against my ribcage as Abram's head snaps toward the sound. Our eyes lock for a split second, his widening in shock. I don't wait to see what happens next.
"Shit!" I gasp, my legs already carrying me away from the horrific scene.
I tear down the dimly lit hallway, my breath coming in ragged pants. The sound of raised voices and heavy footsteps echo behind me, spurring me on faster.
"Zara! Wait!" Abram's voice booms, but it only fuels my panic.
I burst through a side door, the cool night air hitting my flushed skin. My car. I need to get to my car. My trembling hands fumble with the keys as I sprint across the parking lot.
"Come on, come on," I mutter, trying to get to my car. From the corner of my car, I see Abram emerge from the building, his face a mixture of anger and desperation.
"Zara, please! Let me explain!" he screams.
I don’t stop.
And then, a flash of movement catches my attention. A large, black van appears behind me, driving alongside me as I run.
“Zara!” Abram screams out in warning.
My heart leaps into my throat as it pulls up beside me, then swerves, cutting off the way forward. I try to turn back, but the doors swing open and hands grab at me.
"No! Let me go!" I scream, my voice cracking with fear as strong arms yank me toward the waiting van. My heels dig into the ground, desperation lending me a strength I never knew I had.
Abram's voice is a distant echo, drowned out by the hammering of my heart in my ears.
The men hauling me inside are rough, their faces full of malice. I kick and struggle, every fiber of my being screaming for escape.
"Quiet, little bird," one of them growls, a cruel sneer in his voice as he comes at me with a mouth gag, while another, with a large scar on his face, ties my hands behind my back.
And then, the van doors slam shut, throwing the world outside and Abram’s cries for me into darkness.