37. Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sunny
I want to curl up and take a nap, but the thought of sleep is terrifying. A shower sounds like a much better alternative.
The bathroom is bigger than two rooms of my apartment. A pristine white claw-foot tub sits against one wall, with a separate glass-enclosed —shower in the corner. The counter holds neatly folded towels and basic toiletries—another surprise.
I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it, letting steam fill the room. As I step under the spray, I close my eyes and try to let the water wash away the tension in my shoulders. It feels wonderful. The shower gel and shampoo smell clean but decidedly masculine—it makes me wonder whose room this is normally.
My mind drifts back to my apartment—I'm already regretting not having some of my own things. My sketchbook. My pillow. The few photos of me with my dad I managed to save and keep tucked away. I hope they're still there when we go back. The thought of someone in my space, going through my things, makes my skin crawl.
After drying off with what must be the softest, most luxurious towel I've ever used, I start opening drawers in search of a brush. The bathroom cabinets are meticulously organized—razors, shaving cream, deodorant, all lined up with military precision. I finally find a brush in the bottom drawer, barely used by the looks of it.
Standing there in a towel, I stare at the heap of clothes on the floor. I nudge the pile with my toe and can feel that at least the hoodie I was wearing is still damp with sweat. The thought of putting any of it back on sounds horrible.
The dresser in the bedroom beckons. I push down feelings of guilt as I start opening drawers and rummaging through them. Everything is perfectly folded and organized by color, each stack neat and precise.
In the third drawer, I find a collection of T-shirts. One catches my eye—faded black and soft from countless washes, with bright red lettering advertising "Lucy Lou's Bar & Grill, Old Bridge—Serving Cold Beer & Hot Wings Since 1981."
I pull it on, and it falls to mid-thigh. I can't imagine any of the men I met downstairs wearing it. It seems too... blue-collar.
I catch my reflection in the mirror and hesitate. It looks like I'm drowning in the soft material. I take a minute to weigh out my options—but one more look at the discarded pile of clothes in the bathroom and clean wins out.
After combing through my damp hair, I feel better. Cleaner. But the room feels too quiet, too still. The voices from downstairs have only gotten louder, rising and falling in a steady soothing rhythm.
My curiosity gets the best of me. Besides, the smell of bread wafting up from the kitchen makes my stomach growl.
I have a moment of hesitation about being seen in nothing but this shirt, but I remind myself that these men met me at Siren's. They've seen a hell of a lot more of me than what this T-shirt covers, even if it doesn't feel like it.
I pad down the stairs quietly, following the voices into what looks like a dining room. The guys are gathered around a large wooden table, heads bent together in discussion. Wolf has a laptop open in front of him, and there are papers spread across the table.
They all look up when I enter, conversation dying immediately. Z's eyes slide up my bare legs and stop at the front of the shirt. Recognition flashes in his eyes, followed by something dark and intense. His gaze lingers a beat too long before he looks away, his jaw tight. I realize this must be his shirt I'm wearing—he gave me his room. The silence is thick, awkward. I shift my weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling like an intruder.
Chase looks from me to Zane getting a read on the situation before clearing his throat and breaking the tension. His voice is deep and surprisingly gentle when he speaks. "Perfect timing. Jayce is just about done with dinner." He pulls out the empty chair next to him. "Come, sit. We were just finishing up anyway."
I hesitate for a moment before taking the seat offered. Wolf closes his laptop, sweeping a stack of papers into a folder. Whatever they were discussing, they clearly don't want me involved.
"Hope you like garlic," Jayce calls from the kitchen. "Because I might have gone a little overboard."
"Like we'd ever expect anything less," Ty snorts.
"Ha. Ha." Jayce retorts, emerging with a huge pot of pasta. The rich smell of tomatoes and herbs fills the room.
Chase gets up to help, returning with a basket of garlic bread and a bowl of salad. It's surreal, watching these intimidating men move around each other in perfect choreographed movements.
"Wine?" Z asks, holding up a bottle of red.
I shake my head no, watching as he pours generous glasses for everyone. The normalcy of what's happening around me is throwing me off balance.
"So," Chase says as we start passing dishes around. "You're an artist?"
I nearly choke on the drink of water I took. "How did you"
"Z told us about your drawings," he shrugs. "Says you have some hung up on your walls. I draw too." He nods toward the sketchbook I noticed earlier.
"Oh." I twirl pasta around my fork, oddly touched that he noticed. "Yeah, I guess."
"She's being modest," Z cuts in. "Her work is incredible."
Heat creeps up my neck at his words. I didn't realize he'd paid that much attention.
"You should see Chase's work," Wolf says, tearing into a piece of garlic bread. "Guy could be selling in galleries if he wanted to."
Chase ducks his head, embarrassed. "It's just a hobby."
"Show her the one you did of Wolf sleeping at his desk," Jayce grins. "Drool and all."
"I do not drool," Wolf protests, but he's fighting a smile.
Just like that, the tension breaks. The conversation flows easy, punctuated by laughter and good-natured ribbing. They tell stories about each other, share inside jokes. I find myself relaxing despite everything. They make it easy to get drawn in.
Zane wasn't lying. Jayce is a brilliant cook. The pasta is perfect, the sauce rich and flavorful. I'm on my second helping before I realize it.
"Thank you," I say quietly to Z while the others are arguing about some movie I've never seen. "For everything you did today."
He meets my eyes, his expression serious. "You don't have to thank me. We take care of our own."
"Is that what I am now? One of your own?"
"You're under our protection," he says simply. "So, yeah. You're family."
Family. The word sits heavy in my chest. I'm not even sure what that word means.
"More wine anyone?" Chase offers, already reaching for the bottle.
I let the warmth of the food and conversation wash over me. For the first time since this afternoon, I feel my shoulders relax.
Maybe, this won't be as bad as I was imagining it.
After dinner, everyone drifts to their own corners of the house. Chase returns to his book, Wolf disappears into what looks like an office, and Jayce starts cleaning up the kitchen with Ty's help. It’s how I imagine a family operates.
Z touches my elbow lightly. "Can we talk for a minute?"
I follow him to a small study off the main living room. Books line the walls, and a leather armchair sits in one corner next to a reading lamp. Z closes the door behind us, and my heart rate picks up slightly.
"First," he says, leaning against the desk, "I want you to know I'm glad you're here."
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. "Did I have a choice?"
"There are always choices, Sunny." His gaze is locked on mine.
"Choices and options are worlds apart."
He nods slowly. "About that... Wolf pulled the security footage from around your apartment building."
My stomach drops. "And?"
"Someone's definitely been watching you. Following you." He runs a hand through his long black hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "We don't know who yet, but the cameras have shown cars entering the parking lot outside your building right after you pull into the garage. When you leave they leave. I had Wolf check and they always park so they have a clear view of your front window and door. It appears to be the same person, but it's hard to tell."
The room suddenly feels too small. I sink into the leather armchair, my legs unsteady. "How... how long?"
"That's the thing—we can only access footage from the past ten days." He leaves the sentence hanging.
"Could it be..." I can't bring myself to say Garrett's name.
"We don't know. But whoever it is, they know what they're doing. They keep themselves far enough away from the security cameras to make ID'ing them almost impossible. They change cars, change plates every other day. They aren’t an amateur. The only reason you knew they were there was probably because they wanted you to know." Z pushes off from the desk and crouches in front of my chair, bringing himself to my eye level. "Which is why I need to tell you something else."
I meet his gaze, dreading what comes next.
"I can't keep this to myself anymore. I need help if I'm going to keep you safe. Sunny, I need Levi and Colt here."
The sound of Levi's name sends a jolt through my system. "No."
"Sunny—"
"No." I stand up abruptly, forcing him to step back. "I can't... do that."
Z's voice remains steady, calm. "I can't imagine how any of this feels, but this is about keeping you safe. Whoever's watching you is serious and they know what they're doing. We need resources, manpower. That means Levi and Colt and the rest of the guys."
"You said you'd protect me." My voice comes out smaller than I intend, accusing.
"And I will. That's exactly why I need to bring them in." He steps closer but doesn't touch me. "Look, I know what Levi did. I know he left when you needed him most. But right now, we need his help."
I pace the small room, feeling trapped. "Does he already know I'm here?"
"No. I haven't told him anything yet." Z watches me move, his expression unreadable. "But he needs to know. We're dealing with something bigger than just you and him."
The logical part of my brain knows he's right. If someone's really watching me, if they have the kind of determination that Z is talking about of course he should do whatever he needs to.
But the thought of seeing Levi again, of being in the same house as him is unbearable.
"I won't let him come here," Z says, as if reading my thoughts. "Not unless you agree. But you need to know that I can't keep you as safe as you would be with him here. We need his help, his connections. And Colt? Colt's the best at what he does. If anyone can figure out who's watching you, it's him."
I stop pacing, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window. Outside, the sky has turned dark, and I can see the shadowy outline of motion sensing security lights lining the fence around the property. Somewhere out there, someone is looking for me.
"What if..." I swallow hard. "What if it's him? What if Garrett found me?"
"Then we'll deal with it." Z's voice hardens. "But we need to know what we're up against."
I turn back to face him. "You really need them here?"
"I do." He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "I wouldn't suggest this if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. You know that, right?"
And I do know that. In the short time I've known him, Z has never given me any reason to doubt anything he’s said.
"Okay," I whisper. It feels like a surrender in the worst possible way. "But I don't... I can't..."
"I'll be here with you the whole time," Z promises. "None of this has to mean anything more than just pooling our resources to keep you safe."
I nod, exhaustion crushing in on me. "When will you tell them?"
"Tonight. The sooner we get started, the better." He studies my face. "You should get some rest. It's been a long day."
I push away from the window. "Z?"
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"
"Thank you. For being honest with me. About all of it."
Something softens in his expression. "I will never be anything less than that to you. That's a promise."