Chapter 33 Zach
ZACH
Icouldn’t believe how badly I’d fucked everything up with Rafe.
I should have been listening more carefully for him to wake up.
I should have gone outside to take the call or said I’d have to call back later, no matter how far up the chain the asshole went.
Maria had called, warning me I was about to be interrogated, and I’d wanted to get it over with.
Why the fuck didn’t I realize Rafe was standing there, that he was listening?
I could’ve paused the call and explained that I had to say some things that weren’t true.
Or I could have hung up. I was going to resign anyway.
There were so many ways I could’ve stopped this disaster from happening, but I was a fucking idiot, and now Rafe thought I was playing him the whole time.
He thought none of our time together was real, that I saw him as no more than a fool who would give me what I wanted.
He already thought no one appreciated what he was capable of, and instead of convincing him otherwise, I just proved his point.
I slammed my hand against the steering wheel as grief morphed into anger.
I wanted to tear the world apart. I wanted to go back and tie Rafe to the bed until he believed me.
I wanted to scream at everyone who made it impossible for us to be together.
But more than anything, I was angry at myself.
I could’ve told Rafe I loved him. Even after everything he’d heard, maybe it would’ve mattered.
Or maybe not, but at least the words would’ve been out there.
I pulled into my apartment’s lot and cut the engine. I sat there for a few minutes, hardly even noticing the suffocating heat. Maybe I should stay there; there were worse ways to die than heatstroke.
But Ivanov still needed killing. No matter what Rafe said, I was going to help. And then I was going to do every fucking thing I could to win Rafe back. Because I loved him. I needed him.
I tilted my head against the seat and finally let my tears fall.
I’d held them back during the drive, knowing that if I let go, I wasn’t going to be able to get myself home.
I collapsed against the steering wheel and shook with sobs.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but finally, between the heat and all the tears, I realized I could hardly breathe.
I opened the door, let the air in, and grabbed a napkin from my console to blow my nose. Then I headed into the building.
I knew to always be vigilant. I never took anything for granted, especially when I was on an undercover assignment.
But I wasn’t thinking of anything except Rafe.
I entered the building and climbed the steps to my apartment.
I vaguely noted that there was a man at the top of the stairs, but I paid no attention to him.
Several other people lived in the building, one of whom had people over all the time. I wasn’t really watching or listening.
Pain burst through the back of my skull.
There was someone behind me—I hadn’t even known he was there.
I fought against the blackness trying to consume me, jabbing my elbow back.
A man groaned as I caught him in the stomach, but the man who had been at the top of the stairs rushed toward me, gun in hand.
In a Russian accent, he said, “Don’t make a sound.”
Stars danced in front of me, and my head throbbed.
All I knew was that if I thought I’d fucked up before, I’d really done it now.
I was never going to see Rafe again. I must’ve passed out then, because the next thing I knew, there was duct tape over my mouth, and I was bound hand and foot in the back of a car.