Chapter 34
Zara
He seems in control, but also not in control.
No matter where his head is at right now, I don't feel like I'm in any danger. I haven't since I realized it was him and not someone linked to either Billy or Tommy.
If anything it felt more like my white knight was there to grab me so we could ride off into the sunset, only he drove my piece of shit car, U-Haul and all, and instead of going anywhere, he took me a few miles further into the mountains to his cabin and told me to go right back to the basement room I was held prisoner in a few days ago.
"You'll think I'm crazy," he insists when I demand answers.
"I won't," I promise, and it's a hundred percent the truth.
If he's crazy, then I'm crazy for feeling how I do about being here.
I wanted him to come for me. Hell, I wanted him to beg me to stay when he was on my front porch several hours ago. I wanted him to fucking fight for me. I think that pulling a gun on the men he's been working with because they're trying to talk sense into him about keeping me here is his way of telling me he wants me around.
I couldn't hear all of what he said to them but I heard him claim me.
"She's fucking mine," were his exact words, and hearing them made everything make sense, at least to that part of my head that never wants to listen to reason .
"The gun," I urge, but he doesn't put it away.
I know he thinks he needs it, and, honestly, I don't know what would happen if one or both of those men pushed their way into this room.
I feel a little bit of relief when he at least lowers it to his side rather than keeping it pointed at the door.
"Have a seat," I urge, watching him move with me when I reach for the chair he sat in the other day.
It doesn't go unnoticed that he keeps himself between me and the door, only I feel like it's for my own protection rather than him trying to keep me here.
I wonder what his response would be if I asked him to leave with me. If I confessed my fears about driving with the trailer, would he offer to take me wherever I wanted to go before begging to stay with me?
I swallow as I shove those ideas away.
He stands near the chair but doesn't lower his body until I take a seat on the end of the bed.
Before I can open my mouth, he turns the chair to fully face the door.
"They aren't going to bother us," I assure him.
He must not know that the man with the scarred face came and opened the door while he was gone. He asked if I was okay, and I assured him I was fine, just a little confused and wanted answers. He told me I needed to get them from Pax.
His name is Pax, and I sort of hate that I didn't learn that from him. I had to hear it from someone else.
My frustration continues to grow as he stares at the door as if he expects it to blow open at any minute.
The handgun is resting on his thigh, forefinger along the barrel, but I know he can move it to the trigger without even thinking.
He's a warrior, a man very capable of protecting the both of us if it came down to it. I don't know how to convince him that I don't think that would be necessary.
"Were you dropped on your head as a kid?" I ask, wanting a serious answer because it's clear that we're not in any danger down here.
Maybe he's in the middle of a psychotic break and I'm not as safe as I want to believe that I am right now.
"Not that I know of," he answers without a hint of humor in his voice.
" You took me from my home," I remind him. "Why bring me back here if it's dangerous?"
"I didn't know he'd be here," he growls. "He doesn't fucking live here, yet he's always around."
"Jericho?" I ask.
He shakes his head. He must be talking about the other silver-haired guy, but I can't recall what his name is or if I've ever even been told what the other guy's name is.
"You don't have to worry about Jericho."
"Do I have to worry about you?"
The words slip out before I can stop them. I need the answer because I don't think he's ever lied to me. Lies of omission yes, but other than his name I don't think he's blatantly told me something untrue. If anything he has constantly warned me away from him.
Only now does he turn around and face me, and even with the angry look on his face, I find that I like it when I have his attention.
His eyes skate over my body, and now that I know he wants to protect me, his attention feels different. I don't feel like he's searching for flaws, but rather he's checking every part of me to make sure I'm okay.
"What would you do if I tried to leave here?"
"Do you want to leave?"
I shake my head, seeing relief flash in his eyes with my confession.
"Does that make me insane?"
That dimple deepens for the briefest of seconds. "Probably. "
"You care about me," I whisper.
"It's dangerous."
"It's? or you?"
"Both," he says, and I can see the pain on his face with his response.
He doesn't want to be a danger to me, but there's something about him or the way he lives that would make our connection high-risk.
I reposition myself, sitting cross-legged on the bed so I can fully face him.
"You think I'm in danger?"
"I know you're in danger. The world, every day is fucking dangerous."
"But not from your friends?"
"They aren't my friends, and the danger that comes with them is forcing me to stay away from you."
"Because you're protecting me?"
He dips his head once, as if it's a burden but he's willing to take it on despite it being so.
I flinch when he scoots the chair across the floor, the noise echoing abruptly in the mostly empty room.
Then he's sitting right across from me, the gun tucked back into his waistband as he lifts his hand and cups my face.
I swear this man is my greatest weakness, the biggest challenge I'll ever have to face in my lifetime.
I should slap him again and leave, tell him to stay out of my life, but I know I won't. I'm trapped in his multicolored gaze, hoping he plans on keeping me.
"Why did you pick me?" I ask, wondering if he's going to be willing to tell me anything when he hasn't been very forthcoming with information in the past.
"You were connected to Tommy Wilkinson," he answers immediately, and it sends a thrill of victory up my spine.
"I just work at his bar. Why were you trying to get information on him? "
"He was running an illegal prostitution ring out of his bar. We found The Lost Kitten on a list connected to a very bad man, and we needed to find out what that connection was."
I nod my head. Hearing what Tommy was up to isn't that big of a surprise, especially not after his hints about clientele and offering me a different job. I sort of concluded he was doing something like that, and with Teena "interviewing" through sex, it solidified the idea for me.
"Was he connected to the bad man?"
He shakes his head. "The bar was discovered to be a possible acquisition."
"What does the bad man do?"
"Sex trafficking. Tommy is scum, have no doubt about that, but from what we can tell, he treated his girls fairly well. If that's even possible considering he was having them make money for him by selling their bodies."
I rub at the cold chills that rush up my arms with the news.
"You claimed to be dangerous."
"I am dangerous," he growls, his hand skating over the top of his head, eyes growing a little wild and unfocused. "I fucking hurt people for a living."
"You use them and throw them away, like you did me?"
"I… fuck. It was never my intent to hurt you. This job was supposed to be different."
"Different from what?" I ask, wondering just how many women he has gotten close to in order to take a bad guy down.
"This is Tennessee, but also New Mexico."
I shake my head in confusion.
"I was part of a group of men in New Mexico that went mostly to South America and Mexico and took down branches of sex traffickers, only every one of those fucking men and women in New Mexico all fell in love. I didn't want any part of that disgusting shit. All the smiles, and side-long looks, all the innuendo, and how they'd just rather stay in their rooms with their lovers than do anything else. It made my skin crawl."
I bite my lips between my teeth because as he talks about hating the way those other people acted, he's tracing hearts on my arm, making a shiver race up my spine.
"I was offered a job here. I was to be part of a program that worked on domestic cases rather than ones where we had to leave the country. It would take a little more finesse, meaning I couldn't do what it was that I do best."
"Hurt people?" I clarify.
"Exactly. I had to use my head more than my knife. We had to stay under the radar because local police weren't informed we were working cases in their jurisdictions until it was time for them to know. That sort of shit pisses a lot of people off. They don't like people slinking around their backyards without them knowing."
"And this is some sort of branch of the men in New Mexico?"
"Sort of but we're also connected to--"
He clamps his mouth shut as if realizing he has already said too much.
"Is what you're doing illegal?"
He shakes his head. "No, it's not."
I watch as he lifts his hand from my arms, swiping at his eyes.
"How much sleep have you gotten since I left?"
He shakes his head, telling me exactly what I need to know.
"Come," I tell him, sliding back to the top of the bed with my arms out. "Lie down with me."
He seems so willing to answer nearly every question I have, but I can see the exhaustion in his eyes. I can only hope that once he gets some sleep, he'll still be willing to continue this conversation.
"I don't deserve you," he whispers as he stands.
"I can make my own decisions," I assure him, scooting over when he takes a seat on the bed.
He urges me to face the door, putting the gun on the bed right by my stomach, his hand covering it as if he's willing to rest but feels as if he still needs to be ready for anything.
I wonder as I drift to sleep in the safety of his arms if he'd be willing to stop trying to save everyone else, if he'd be happy to spend the rest of his life only protecting me.
It's selfish to think that way, to sacrifice all of those that he could help just so I could experience some happiness in my life, but as my mind begins to quiet, I know I'd do it in a heartbeat.
He may claim to be the dangerous one, but I think that distinction rests more on me than him.