Chapter 36
Zara
"I think he just has to come into his own," Jericho says.
I don't feel ignored as I stand by the sink and nibble on a piece of toast, even though they aren't talking to me. They aren't speaking in code or making me feel left out. It makes me wonder just how forthcoming they'd be if I started asking questions.
Jericho looks at me like I'm some mythical creature as I cross the room, intent on inserting myself into their conversation. Instead of getting into a tighter group, a show of closing in ranks, they spread out a little, the man that introduced himself as Hound giving me an easy smile as I approach.
There are a million things I want to know, and I can't decide if I'll be disappointed if I hear it from these guys instead of...
"What's his name?"
Jericho tilts his head as if confused. "You don't know his name?"
Hound grins even wider, the smile taking over his entire face.
"It's--" Jericho begins before he's interrupted.
"My name is Pax Hart," he says as he clears the top of the stairs from the basement with the large, tattooed man right behind him. "And I'm President of the Gatlinburg, Tennessee chapter of the Cerberus MC. "
I don't even bother fighting the smile that tugs up the corners of my mouth.
"Really?" Jericho snaps, but there's an absence of anger in his tone. "Did I even have a chance?"
"Did you apply?" Pax challenges, but I see a hint of amusement in his gaze for a brief second before he shuts it down.
Jericho looks at Kincaid, the man who was introduced as the New Mexico chapter president. "There was an application?"
Kincaid shakes his head with a laugh. "There was no application process."
Pax crosses the room, standing right in front of me, eyes sweeping over my entire body as if he's checking me for wounds or inventorying my mood.
I look up at him, my piece of toast suspended a few inches from my mouth. I'm not hungry for some reason, but I accepted the bread to have something to focus on and keep my hands busy while waiting for them to leave the basement.
"We have a lot to talk about," he says, eyes locked on my mouth to the point that I'm distracted enough to forget that anyone else is even in the room standing behind him until someone speaks.
"Where do you guys keep the coffee?" I recognize the voice as Hound's.
Pax seems more in control, and less manic than he did just a few hours ago, but I know the limited sleep we got won't be enough for long. He still needs more rest, and more time to heal from being stabbed.
Goose pimples rush down my arm as he sweeps his hand from my bicep down until our fingers are tangled.
"Can we speak in private?"
"Of course," I answer, letting him lock our hands together before he escorts me out of the room.
A wave of nausea washes over me as he leads me up the stairs and toward his room. I imagine seeing all the blood on his bed, but the room is in pristine condition when he pushes open the door .
I pull in a relieved breath at the normalcy of the room.
He guides me across the room until we're close to the edge of the bed.
"Is this okay or do you prefer the chair?"
"This is fine," I answer quickly, wanting to get to the meat of the situation although my heart is pounding. I'm terrified he's going to tell me that he made a mistake, that he had a choice to make and I wasn't even a consideration.
"So, club president, huh?" I say when he sits beside me seeming content to just exist in the silence.
"It's new."
"How new?"
He looks down at his watch. "Half an hour or so."
"What did you have to give up to get that job?" Tears burn the backs of my eyes with the question, but shit, if I'm going to be asked to leave, I'd much rather that happen sooner rather than later.
He pulls in a deep breath, making my head race with the path I'd have to take to get out of the house and the direction I'll leave the driveway, and the stop signs I'll hit on the way to the interstate.
Beach or mountains? I realize I still haven't fully made up my mind.
I picture the closest pull-off I can use to cry my eyes out because I know that's going to happen long before I get to my final destination, wherever that might be.
"Nothing," he whispers.
"You're not going to make me leave?"
"I probably should," he says, a hint of defeat in his tone. "The work I do is dangerous. It would put you in danger, and I'm not just saying that. People connected to Cerberus have been hurt in the past. We deal with the worst of the worst, and they don't blink an eye hurting people, especially the ones we care for if anything for the distraction it might offer for them to escape."
"You want me to leave," I surmise, my heart threatening to break all over again.
He shakes his head. "You not being here would probably be best."
The crack in my chest begins to widen.
"I would tear apart the earth if something happened to you, but no Zara, I don't want you to leave. Honestly, I don't know how I'd survive with you gone, but it has to be your choice."
"I have a choice?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood, but all he does is frown.
"I'm not holding you prisoner, and I don't want you here out of fear. You'll be as safe as you would've been before you met me if you leave now."
"Before I met you," I whisper softly, looking down at my hands.
Just the thought of it makes me realize just how short a time we've had since I first locked eyes on him in the bar, but somehow at the same time, it feels like we've known each other forever, as if our souls were always meant to join.
"I want you to really think about it. I can do my best to keep you safe, but the danger is real. It's not some far-off concept of danger like riding in a car or going for a hike in the woods. There may come a time when someone will think it's in their best interest to hurt you to get to me."
I swallow, trying to take his words in and really consider the choice I seem to have.
"Know that I will kill anyone who ever even thinks about it, but that may come at a cost to you as well."
"It sounds like you want me to leave," I whisper, looking up at him.
He shakes his head without hesitation. "This is one time in my life I'm being selfish. I want you here with me."
"Do I have to make that choice right now?"
"No. I'd feel a lot better if you took some time and really thought over the pros and cons. I'd like for you to stay here while you do that if it's not too much to ask."
I look around the room.
"Full disclosure, if the answer turns out to be no, then I can have you relocated."
"To a place you only know about?" I say jokingly.
He shakes his head. "Just the opposite. If I know where you are, I'll end up going to you. I wouldn't be able to help myself."
I pull in a deep breath as I meet his eyes.
"I can't even guarantee that not knowing where you are in the beginning would keep me from looking for and finding you."
"Sounds like you have it really bad," I say, taking a chance on something emotional, knowing he's not really the type to admit to such things despite what his actions are already telling me.
The man has confessed he'd go to the ends of the earth to protect me, that he'd plow over anyone that got in his way. Billy couldn't even be bothered to meet for dinner when I'd call and tell him I had to work late. The comparison is vast, the two men are starkly different in the way they care for me.
His throat works on a swallow, and I try not to feel insulted when he doesn't look happy about the way he feels, and it's one more thing I have to take into consideration in my decision.
"What does it look like if I stay?"
He looks around the room as if the answers are something tangible he can pull from the air, but then his shoulders lift.
"I don't know. I wouldn't want you working at the bar. I'd like it if you lived here with me. We'll fight and probably often over your safety. You'll probably feel smothered. I know for a fact that it'll end up being more than you can even picture despite all that I'm telling you. Work will pull me away. You'll be in the house with other agents because that's just how the organization works. A space of our own isn't anywhere in the near future."
"Will you have to get close to other women the way you did me?"
"Fuck no," he growls. "I have to have a different approach, but work would take me away for days or weeks at a time. I can't sit by the phone and answer it every time it rings because it compromises my cover. You'll be lonely at times. That much I can guarantee."
"Sounds intense."
"I'm asking you for a lifelong commitment," he says, curling a finger under my chin so I'm looking into his eyes.
This makes me pause. We aren't talking about playing house and seeing how it turns out, and I can only imagine what it's taking for him to make these confessions. He's always so closed off and quiet, always angry looking as if he's just waiting for the next disappointment in life to kick him in the gut.
"It's a lot to think about," I tell him, knowing this is going to be the biggest decision of my life. "I can't make that decision right now."
He nods as if he knows I won't be able to stay like he thinks I'm just putting off the inevitable.
"Can I have some space while I think?"
He stands from the bed, pulling me to my feet, but instead of leaving the room, he holds my hand and guides me from the room to another door.
"This room is yours for as long as you need it," he says, shoving open the door and revealing a room that's not much different from his.
Then he walks out, leaving me to think about how one choice will change my entire life.