19. Isla
CHAPTER 19
ISLA
I fought back the yawn as I listened to Gerard discussing the landscaping requirements for building the yurts. The groundskeeper was protesting quite a bit, and I admit I sided with Gerard on this matter as I didn’t see the issue with clearing a few areas of woodland that weren’t cultivated or landscaped. The whole point of the glamping lifestyle was that the glamper—was that what they were called?—was camping with amenities on hand and facilities nearby. The Grand sat on extensive grounds, but only the immediate acreage was cultivated to showcase the beauty of the hotel. The “rough” areas were perfect for what Gerard wanted.
I couldn’t understand why the groundskeeper was protesting as if he were part of Greenpeace. However, I remained silent while they worked through it. The specifics of the yurts were outside my expertise, but organizing the events and presenting them as part of a package was.
Once more, I bit back a yawn. Damn Zayn. Keeping me up all night, well, in his case, early hours of the morning, when he knew I had to go to work as he lay sleeping the day away. This was the second day in a row, I’d crawled from bed to get ready for work as he snuggled in to the covers to sleep.
I was burning the candle at both ends right now and working my job, catching a few hours of sleep, and then being woken when he came to bed. It wasn’t all his fault. I reached for him more often than not.
The need I had for him was yet to be satisfied. He satisfied me very well, not just in the primal sense but just the need to be beside him. Touch him.
I let out a frustrated sigh. Yup, I’d become a stage-three clinger.
Julian would laugh if I told him. The smile that had been threatening as I thought about my obsession with Zayn faded as I thought of my best friend.
I hadn’t seen or heard from him in a few days. Not since I told him to leave Zayn’s the other night. I had asked Zayn, but he hadn’t seen him either. I’d also asked Rye, who tended to be more brutal with his delivery of the truth, but he also hadn’t seen him.
The sense of being watched hadn’t lessened either, and I knew my overprotective boyfriend had someone from his rank of many soldiers keeping an eye on me. However, after he had remained tightlipped through my extensive questioning, I eventually gave up. I understood him better now than I ever had, but one thing hadn’t changed from high school: he was a stubborn son of a bitch.
Boyfriend .
I had called him that. He was, wasn’t he? I twirled my spoon in my coffee cup as I pretended to listen to annual wildflower patterns when, in reality, I was thinking of my relationship status.
Was I even in a relationship? We were living together. Weren’t we? Or were we coexisting in the same space ?
I sipped my lukewarm black coffee, not hiding my reaction as the brew tasted more bitter as it cooled.
“Isla, would you like to walk the grounds with us?” Gerard asked as he pushed himself to his feet. “A woman’s insight may be beneficial.”
Snapping back to the present, I looked between Gerard and his groundskeeper. “Sure, though I don’t know if I will be of much help,” I told them, getting to my feet. “But it can’t hurt to look.” Again . This would be the third trip to the prospective site for the yurts.
At least the walk to the woods was pleasant. I changed my three-inch heels for rain boots, and off we traipsed. The warm summer air enveloped us, and I had a moment of panic when I couldn’t recall if I’d put my sunscreen on this morning.
It had been particularly difficult to drag myself away from Zayn today. He had gotten in late, and before I opened my eyes in the still dark room, I could feel the tension radiating from him. He had thought I was still asleep when he lay down beside me. He’d huffed in surprise as I climbed onto his lap, kissing him softly, and then I worked my way down his body to his cock in the hope of easing the tension from him.
I hadn’t gotten any sleep. I only had myself to blame. And while I lamented how sleepy I was as I dragged my feet along the grounds, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Because I’d fallen in love with him.
I didn’t even know when it happened. Was it before I was taken? Was it after? I didn’t know. And if I was honest, it scared the shit out of me. Because there were parts of him I’d never be ready for. But I knew I already loved them anyway.
I didn’t know what caused the tension in his body when he came home late or what low conversations he held on the phone as he took calls, which inevitably led him to leave the room. I didn’t know half of what Zayn did. Hell, I didn’t even know a fraction of it, but the horrible truth I was having to face was that… I didn’t care .
Was he a bad man? I didn’t know. I didn’t think so. Not in an evil way. Not in the way that Patrick Delaney obviously was. Was he a solid, upstanding citizen of society? No. I knew that to my core. What I needed to know was how corrupt was corrupt? If it was wrong, how could he ever be my Mr. Right?
I missed my best friend. Not that Julian would have been neutral in the conversation. He would have been arguing vehemently about how bad Zayn was for me. But now I no longer knew if it was his concern for me or concern that I would find out how long he had been lying to me as Zayn fished him out of debt again and again.
I really wanted to talk to Julian. My relationship with Zayn could wait, but Julian’s addiction to gambling couldn’t. I needed to know where he was and what he was doing.
As Gerard started discussing excavating the ground for flattening the area for the yurts, I vowed that I would make every effort tonight after work to hunt down my best friend.
The sound of the door closing woke me. I sat up, the house too quiet. The clock blinked, showing it was just before four in the morning. I waited, but I couldn’t hear Zayn in the bathroom. It wasn’t late for him to be home, but it also wasn’t early.
I was in pj’s. The house felt cooler tonight, and I finally wore a pair of the pajamas he had bought me. Long-legged soft pants with a short, capped sleeve and a V-neck matching top, comfy as anything. Slipping out of bed, I padded to the window just in time to see Zayn walking to his SUV, phone pressed to his ear, tension visible in every inch of his posture.
My heart rate picked up.
I didn’t think. I grabbed one of his hoodies off the back of the chair and headed downstairs. Shoving my feet into a pair of sneakers, I opened the front door. He was putting the phone in his pocket as I came outside. I saw Rye already in the driver’s seat.
“Where are you going?”
Zayn turned, his expression unreadable. “Work.”
“At four in the morning?” I wrapped my arms around my body despite the night air being muggy. “Didn’t you just finish work?”
Zayn glanced at the SUV and then turned back to me. “It’s not a meeting I can move.”
“What is it?”
Zayn ignored the question. “I didn’t mean to wake you, Is. Go back to bed.”
I should go back to bed. This was his thing. His work . “Let me come.”
Where the hell did that come from?
Zayn’s jaw tightened. “You don’t need to do this.”
But I did. I knew I did. “You said I’m safe with you.”
He held my gaze, his eyes stormy.
“Prove it.”
I heard a scoff from inside the SUV and was pleased that we both ignored Rye.
Something flickered in Zayn’s eyes. Not annoyance. Something else. Resignation maybe? Or…acceptance? He looked me over. God knew what I looked like, but I saw that old familiar smirk playing about his mouth. When his eyes met mine, they held a challenge.
“Fine,” he said. “But you stay in the car. ”
He got in the front seat, and I heard Rye say “Are you crazy?” before Zayn shushed him.
Clambering in the back of the SUV, I tried not to remember the last time I was in the back of this car. My hands were shaky as I pulled the seat belt on, and I successfully avoided eye contact with Rye as I settled back into my seat.
No one spoke. Not for the first ten minutes. The roads blurred past, the threat of sunrise hovering on the horizon. It was a lovely, peaceful morning, or it would be if my stomach wasn’t churning with a mix of dread and curiosity.
I was burning to ask questions. I could feel the weight of them pressing against my throat, ready to be spilled, but I swallowed them back.
Zayn reached up, twisting the rearview mirror to look at me. “This is business,” he told me, his words cool and clipped. “A shipment that needs to be checked.”
“Shipment? Boats?” I asked, immediately feeling stupid and flinching when Rye sighed loudly.
“A delivery,” Zayn confirmed.
“I thought it was a meeting?” My voice sounded small, unsure.
“We need to take her back, Zayn,” Rye murmured. “She isn’t ready for this.”
“You don’t get to make that call,” I snapped, feeling more comfortable in myself as Rye hinted at my naivety. I focused on Zayn. “What’s the delivery of?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Money.”
“Your meeting is about a delivery of money?”
His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Yes.”
Money laundering . I’d accused him of it in my head many times, and now he was confirming it. “As in washing money?”
“Yes. ”
I turned toward the window, the words cold against my skin. Maybe I should have stayed in bed…
Rye parked in an alley behind a tired-looking strip mall. A row of dumpsters, a crooked loading dock to a sorry-looking building, and a flickering motion light greeted us.
“This is the part where you wait,” Zayn said. “It won’t take long, ten minutes, max.”
I nodded, my eyes drawn to the surroundings. It was like something from a crime thriller movie. One with a bad budget and Z-list actors.
“Isla!”
His sharp tone made me jump in surprise, and I turned back to see him twisted in the seat, looking at me. “Stay in the car. This is not a game, understood?”
I nodded again, swallowing hard against the tightness in my chest.
“Come on,” Rye muttered. “They’ll be wondering why we’re taking so long.” He got out of the SUV.
Zayn kept his eyes on me for a moment longer, and then he stepped out of the car, straightening his jacket, and I watched the two of them as they disappeared into the back entrance.
My teeth gnawed at my bottom lip. This was what I wanted. To see who the man I was in love with was. My heart was all in, but I needed to know if I was all in.
I waited exactly three minutes. Then I opened the door, checking my surroundings for the telltale signs of CCTV. Seeing none, I wasn’t surprised. Why would they have footage of what they were doing?
The warm air enveloped me like a hug as I walked carefully to the loading dock.
Just inside the door, I heard the voices.
Low. Rough. Male .
I edged closer, staying out of sight near the corner of the building. Just enough to peek.
Zayn and Rye stood with two men—one older, hunched in a wool coat, and the other younger with a tight buzzcut and a casual hand resting near the waistband of his jeans…where a gun sat, tucked in just enough to be visible.
It was then that I saw Rye was in a similar stance, standing just to the left of Zayn, one step behind. His hand was near his waist.
I fought down the rising panic as I watched money exchanging hands. Envelopes. Fat envelopes stuffed with cash. There was no small talk.
“You can count it if you want,” the older guy offered.
“Do I need to?” Zayn asked, handing the envelopes to Rye who had pulled a black bag from his pocket.
“No.” The older man laughed. “Never shortchanged you yet, McCabe.”
“Which is why we’ve never had a problem.” Zayn looked around. “We done?”
“Yeah.” The older guy glanced at the younger one beside him. “What did we buy this time?”
“High-priced vodka that tastes like paint stripper,” Zayn told him.
“It’s no good?” the younger man asked.
“As cheap as the whore who sold it.”
My face paled at the disgust in his voice and the cruelty of his words. I started to back away, and that’s when the younger one glanced over Zayn’s shoulder.
Right at me.
I froze. He didn’t say anything. He just smirked—slow, knowing—and I felt a shiver of fear.
Rye turned to Zayn, and when he did, the younger guy mouthed I see you .
I stepped back, heart hammering, pressing a hand to my chest like it could hold the panic in.
I turned and fled back to the car.
The two of them walked out a few minutes later, and I had to force myself to keep my breathing steady. Rye didn’t look at me as he got in, and neither spoke. Zayn slid into the passenger seat like nothing had happened.
Rye started the car, and we pulled away from the alley.
“Did you stay in the car?” Zayn asked, not looking at me.
I didn’t answer.
After a moment, he sighed quietly. “I asked you to stay in the car.”
He sounded disappointed. Like I had done something wrong, which I had, but then so had he. The hypocrisy was too much. “You’re not my boss!” I snapped. “You’re not my keeper.”
“I never claimed to be either,” he said, his voice tense. Controlled. “But I’m the one who has to clean up the mess if something happens to you. Again.”
It was the reminder that something had already happened to me that snapped my mouth closed.
We drove in silence the rest of the way home.
Neither of them spoke as we pulled up in front of the house. I got out, and when I realized neither of them were following, I let myself into the house.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was rattled by seeing him in action, witnessing the reality of what he did, the way he spoke to people, how he held himself, and the way he controlled everything .
I was too wired to go back to bed, and I kind of felt dirty, so I showered. The water was scalding and turned my skin red, but I stayed in there until I felt clean again.
Getting out, I dried off and then stared at my reflection for too long. The steam blurred my image, and I couldn’t help but see it as a warning.
I’d witnessed Zayn in his world. In his element. But it was no longer his world. I was in it now.
And I didn’t know if I belonged here.
Back in the bedroom, I wrapped myself in his hoodie and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for it to open.
Dreading the fallout.
When the door eventually opened, Zayn simply leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, quiet.
“You okay?”
“No.” It sounded as raw as I felt.
“Did you get what you wanted?” His gaze was steady. “Seeing that?”
“It’s who you are, isn’t it?” The challenge was in my voice as much as it was his.
Zayn stepped into the room, crouching down in front of me, and rested his hands on my knees.
“This is what I do,” he confirmed. “It’s not all of who I am.”
“I don’t like it.” I pushed my wet hair back. “I don’t like the way you sound when you’re that person, and I hate the way they looked at you.”
“The way they looked at me?” he asked softly.
“Like you’re the same as them.”
“And you didn’t like that?” Zayn asked me, his thumb rubbing my knee gently. “You didn’t like that I am the same as them?”
“No,” I whispered. “I hated it.”
He looked up at me, his face expressionless.
“But…” I sighed.
“But?”
“I understood it.” My breath was shaky. “I saw it, and I understood why you are that person. I understand who you are.”
Zayn’s head dipped, breaking eye contact. When he looked up at me again, he was no longer hiding behind his mask. He was open. Raw.
Vulnerable .
I reached out, my hand cupping his cheek. “And that’s the part that scares me.”
He didn’t say a word, just leaned into my palm, his eyes closing.
And I knew why.
Because it scared him too.