6. Isla
CHAPTER 6
ISLA
The door closed behind me with a click. I pressed my back against it, and a low, shallow breath shuddered out of me.
I needed a minute.
I needed more than a minute. I needed a lifetime.
My hands were shaking. My heart still hammered against my ribs like it had been all night. I could still feel Zayn’s hands on me, his lips at my throat, and the way he looked at me like I was something he owned.
Like I wanted to be.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I swallowed hard, fighting down the panic that had choked me since they forced me into that car. No, no, no, no. I was not going to let myself spiral. I was not going to stand in his loft, his space, and let the weight of this night crash over me.
I would fall apart when I got home. Not here.
I pushed off the door, removed my socks and boots, and crossed the floor to the shower. My bare feet were silent on the cool, welcoming, and familiar floor.
He was right. I needed a shower. But not for the reason he thought. I needed to wash off the feel of his hands, the scent of him that still clung to my skin, and the lingering heat in my veins that wouldn’t fade no matter how much I willed it to.
The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife. The anger, the desperation, and the pull neither of us could fight.
But he was dangerous.
If I’d doubted it before, I knew it for sure tonight. The way he had looked in that warehouse. That look in his eyes as he spoke to the man who took me. The calm, measured way he conducted himself. He’d looked at me as if I were a stranger.
Indifferent.
But I knew better. And what scared me the most was how easily he could hide his emotions.
Even out in his apartment just now, he had looked at me with a sense of…certainty. The quiet promise that I would be back in his arms.
I hated that he thought that.
I hated it more that he was right.
My fingers trembled as I turned on the water, and thick, heavy steam curled around me. I stripped quickly, stepping under the spray, and let the scalding heat burn away everything I wanted to feel.
But it wasn’t enough.
Nothing was enough.
As the water ran over me, I pressed my hands against the tile, my head dropping forward as a shuddering breath ripped through me.
And then—finally—I let go.
The first tear slipped down my cheek, then another, and another. Until the dam broke, and I gasped for air, my body shaking under the weight of it all. It was too much—this entire day, especially the last twelve hours. The terror of being taken, my anger toward Julian. Knowing that the only person I wanted to see when it was over was the same man I had walked away from weeks ago.
I remembered the panic that I was alone, that no one knew where I was. My hands stung where the hot water ran over them, cleansing them of blood.
Not all of the blood was mine.
I remembered the bloodstained walls. More tears fell as my body shook from the weight of my terror and tears.
Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight into a warm embrace. A safe embrace. Part of me registered that Zayn was still dressed, but that didn’t matter as I let him pick me up and cradle me in his arms.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Zayn murmured as I cried into his chest. “Let me help you.” Zayn tried to put distance between us, reaching for something, but my whimper and fingers desperately clutching at him made him hesitate. “Okay, that’s enough for the shower tonight,” he told me, turning it off and carrying me out.
I was bundled in a soft towel and then carried to his bed. Gently, he placed me on the covers, ignoring my effort to get my wet hair off the pillow.
My eyes were tightly screwed shut. I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes as he saw me break. I felt his hand run over my wet hair.
“You’re okay, Is,” he told me. “You’re safe. Get some rest.”
I felt him move away, and my hand darted out, grabbing his wet clothing. “Stay with me.”
I didn’t look up. I didn’t open my eyes. I hated being weak and vulnerable.
Nothing was said, and then I felt him carefully break my hold. Despair rose in me again, and I felt the tears well. Then, I heard movement. It sounded like clothes were being taken off. The bed dipped, and I was being pulled back into his chest. He pressed a kiss to the back of my head, his strong arms encircling me.
“I’m here.”
Two simple words broke me. Tears fell freely, and I turned in his arms, clinging to him as I cried out my fear. He held me through it all, and he never spoke. He never asked questions; he just let me cry until, eventually, I wore myself out, and I lay in the dark, exhausted, secure in his arms.
I don’t know how long I lay there, but the slow and measured breathing of his body, along with his grip that had loosened slightly, told me he was asleep. The room was dark. I might have zoned out, or maybe I’d also been asleep, but I no longer knew. All I knew was that in his arms, I felt safe even though I was aware on so many levels that this was wrong for us.
For me.
Despite all that, I snuggled in deeper. I could ignore the voice in my head as much as I wanted because the truth was Zayn made me feel protected, and tonight, I needed that.
The irony.
I’d walked away because I knew how dangerous he was. But he was still the man I felt safest with.
With his sharp smirks and rough hands. With his unreadable eyes and cool control. The way he always seemed to know what I needed before I could even admit it to myself.
Zayn, the man who kissed me like he was branding me. The man who had come for me. The one who had gotten me out without so much as breaking a sweat.
The man who kidnappers feared.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a strangled sob fighting to be free of my throat. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t keep letting him in. But no matter how many times I told myself I was walking away, no matter how many times I tried to draw the line—I never stayed gone.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Because Zayn had made one thing very, very clear.
He wasn’t letting me go.
And deep down, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
The soft glow of morning light crept through the edges of the blackout blinds, casting a hazy warmth over the room.
His room.
His bed.
And him… Still here.
I blinked slowly, my mind dragging itself out of sleep as the weight of reality crashed over me once more. Last night. The warehouse. The fight with Zayn after it. The shower.
I shifted slightly, careful not to move too much, my body all too aware of the man beside me. Far too familiar with the body next to mine.
His warmth radiated through the sheets, one arm resting above his head, the other lying across his stomach, his hand splayed across his abs, and his breathing deep and even. I’d asked him to stay, and he had. Without argument, without question.
My chest tightened. I had completely broken down. He hadn’t mocked me for it, hadn’t pushed me away, and hadn’t brushed it off. Instead, he carried me to bed and comforted me. He held me through the worst of it, letting me fall apart, and he didn’t try to piece me back together; he just let me be.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, my fingers curling into the sheets as I forced myself to breathe evenly.
I needed to move. I had to get up, leave, and put distance between us. It was what I had been doing. Waking up in his bed, his space, and his world felt too intimate, too…irresponsible.
It wasn’t a good idea to linger. I knew that. But my body betrayed me.
I didn’t move.
I allowed myself to listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing, to watch the slow rise and fall of his chest, to notice how his lips parted slightly in sleep, and to see how his thick, dark lashes framed his cheeks.
He looked at peace. It was rare that I was awake before him, and I was unfamiliar with seeing him like this.
Zayn McCabe didn’t do peaceful. He did control. He did danger. He did chaos.
But not here. Not now.
Longing twisted in my stomach, a feeling so familiar, no matter how much I tried to convince myself it was unwanted. I turned my head, exhaled slowly, and forced my gaze away. This was temporary. We weren’t like this. Not anymore. I wasn’t sure if we ever had been. Like a magnet my graze drifted back to him.
We had moved on. Or at least we tried to. Now, we were just angry and tense, weighed down by a messy history neither of us had any right to revisit, just as we had been before we slept together.
A soft rustle of sheets made my breath hitch, and I hastily shut my eyes.
A low, gravel-rough voice reached my ears. “You gonna keep staring at me, or are you gonna pretend you’re still sleeping?”
My stomach flipped. Damn him . I shot him a glare, finding him already watching me, his sharp gray eyes still laced with sleep but filled with something else .
Something guarded.
I scoffed, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling. “I wasn’t staring.” When he said nothing, I turned my head to look at him.
His smirk was slow, lazy. Unfairly attractive. “No?” He stretched, muscles flexing, my mouth watered, and I had to restrain myself from reaching out for him. “Seemed like it to me.”
I huffed. “I was thinking.”
He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand, looking down at me. “About?”
I hesitated. What did I say? The truth? You. Or did I lie and tell him it wasn’t him? Not this. Not how easy it felt to be here even when it shouldn’t be.
I swallowed. “About how much I regret you taking me out of the shower before my hair was washed.” I picked up a tangled strand of hair for emphasis.
Zayn chuckled, but his voice was low and smug when he called me on my bullshit. “Liar.”
I clenched my jaw, glaring at the ceiling. I hated how well he knew me. I loathed the fact that, now that he was awake, he would ask me questions. The questions he hadn’t asked me last night.
I should have snuck out when I had the chance. I sat up abruptly, pushing the sheets off me. “I should go.”
Zayn didn’t move. Didn’t stop me. But his voice was calm, even, unwavering. “We need to talk about it, Is.”
I froze. He didn’t say it like a demand. Didn’t say it like an order. It was an invitation.
A choice.
I turned slightly, meeting his gaze. I didn’t see the cold, calculating man who had come and taken me from a hostage situation but rather the man who held me as I fell apart. That might possibly have been more dangerous than anything else.
I shook my head, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Standing, I grabbed the towel from the night before, wrapping myself in it and wishing it was something more substantial. Bulletproof armor came to mind.
“You need to talk about it,” he said evenly, his voice carrying that same unshakable calm that sometimes unnerved me. “I need to know what he said. I also need to speak to Julian, and I am sure you would like to say a few things to him too.”
“I have nothing to say to him,” I snapped, pushing myself off the bed.
I heard him move, and I looked back over my shoulder. He was sitting up, his forearms resting on his knees, the sheet barely covering him. He looked so inviting. His dark hair was a mess from sleep, his skin warm with residual heat, and his eyes—those goddamn piercing eyes—locked on to mine.
And he knew.
He must have seen it on my face, must have recognized the hesitation I was too tired to hide, because his smirk was slow, knowing, and devastating.
He lifted the edge of the sheet. “You can come back in here if you want?”
God, I wanted.
I wanted it so badly that I hated myself for it.
I wanted to sink back into the warmth of his bed, press against his bare chest, and let him pull me into that easy, comforting embrace I’d let myself drown in last night. I wanted to let go of everything outside of this room—the fear, the anger, and the truth that was clawing its way up my throat .
I shook my head, ignoring the disappointment that flashed through his eyes for half a second before it was gone. “We’ve played that game, remember?” I murmured, my voice softer now. “Didn’t work out so well.”
I turned quickly, walking toward the bathroom, needing to break his gaze before I broke something inside me.
The bathroom door didn’t have a lock.
It didn’t need one.
I knew, despite everything and the events of last night, he wouldn’t follow me in here, not after what I’d said outside.
I let go of the towel and turned on the shower, stepping under the hot stream of water and pressing my hands against the cold tile.
Breathe, Isla .
The night was over. Yet, I didn’t feel safe. Not in the way I needed to.
My shower was quick. He still had my hair products in his shower, and I’d left a detangling comb in his cabinet. As I dried my hair, a soft knock interrupted me.
“I have clothes for you,” he told me as he cracked the door. I grabbed them, so grateful they were clean and not the clothes I had been wearing last night.
“Thank you.”
“Come out when you’re ready.”
It was such a simple statement, but it made my eyes fill with tears. I found a discarded hair tie, and once I was dressed, my hair in a ponytail, I opened the door, ready to brave the day.
I stopped when I saw Julian and Rye sitting on the couch. Zayn was leaning against the wall, his eyes trained on me.
He saw me look away from Julian when he rose from the couch, my hand already flying up in warning as he rushed me. “Don’t. ”
“Isla, I’m so sorry. You’ll never know how sorry I am. Please, Isla, you need to let me?—”
“I said don’t ,” I snapped at him. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you speak .”
I didn’t look at him, but the hurt in my chest tightened when, from the corner of my eye, I saw his head drop and his shoulders slump.
“We can make this quick,” Zayn said, speaking only to me. “I just need a few bits of information, and then, I’ll take you somewhere safe.” Zayn touched my elbow.
I didn’t look at him either. I looked past him to the wall.
“Isla, consider it payback for one of the favors you owe me.”
I turned to glare at him, but when I saw the small smirk on his face, the heat of anger left just as quickly as it had come. My shoulders slumped; I was so tired.
I wanted to go home.
I never wanted to be near my apartment again.
And then I remembered they had all my stuff.
“They have my purse,” I said, my voice heavy sounding. “My purse, my wallet, my house keys, my phone. They have everything.”
I dropped into the seat beside Rye, who didn’t move away, and I was still too numb to comment on that. I looked up at Zayn. “My whole life is in that purse.”
“Accounts can be frozen, purses and wallets replaced, and locks can be changed. You can have a new phone by today, up and running like nothing happened.”
“But it did happen,” I whispered, and I felt the panic rise again.
He held my gaze, nodding slowly. “It did. And it will never happen again.” He looked at the man who hovered to the side of me; I could see him in my peripheral vision. “Will it, Julian?”
“No.”
It felt empty—a lie.
“Why would they take me anyway?” I asked in the following silence.
“I think I know,” Julian said softly, and my nails dug into my palms as I fought to stifle a scream. “The night I found out about you two was when Patrick started making noise about how much I owed. I was on my way to find you,” he remarked, turning to Zayn. “Instead, I found Isla. You asked me to take her out of Elixir and make it look convincing so people wouldn’t think she was with you.”
I recalled that night and turned to Zayn. “I texted you and said we made it look convincing, but I didn’t understand what it meant at the time.”
Zayn sniffed, his expression calm. “It would take more than that.” He glanced at Rye, who nodded in agreement. “You two are always together,” Zayn continued steadily. “Everyone at school thought you were a couple. I don’t believe that has changed over the years. Christ, if I didn’t know better, I would think it too.”
“Oh.” I chewed my lip nervously. “My head hurts. When can I go home?”
“You need to tell me what happened, Is.”
Rye gently knocked my knee with his. “Tell me what happened.” I looked at him in surprise, and he gave me a small smile. “Ignore them, talk to me, Isla. We’re not friends, and no feelings are involved. Tell me what happened, and I promise I won’t interrupt.” He glanced over my head. “No one will. Talk to me.”