20. Zayn
CHAPTER 20
ZAYN
“Where’s Barnie?” Rye asked when I came into the kitchen the next morning. He was standing with his back to the counter, hips resting against it, fully dressed and eating a bowl of cereal.
“Who?”
“Isla.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Why did you call her Barnie?”
He spooned food into his mouth. “She’s like a barnacle, clinging on to your ship, so I’m calling her Barnie.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t deal with these two and their dislike for each other. “For fuck’s sake, do not call her that. She’ll hate it.”
He grinned at me with glee. “I know.”
I shot him a glare. “Rye, I mean it.”
“Totes hear you, boss.” He carried on eating, but I saw the smile he was failing to hide.
“Totes? What the fuck is totes?” I peered at him closer. “Are you high?”
Rye laughed, covering his mouth quickly to catch any wayward cereal. “No, I’m not fucking high,” he said with a chuckle. “Been there, done that, got the scars for souvenirs.”
“Why are you so happy?” I asked suspiciously. “Who did you kill, and what will it cost me?”
Dumping his cereal bowl in the sink, he chuckled. “My hands are clean”—he cast a look at me—“so far today at least.” With a wink, he finished his coffee and, whistling, left the kitchen.
I watched him go and fought the urge to follow him. Rye was never…upbeat. Rarely happy. Never elated .
I gulped down my coffee, ignoring the burn in my throat, and followed him to the car. Happy Rye meant something was coming, and I needed to be prepared to fight it.
“Why the fuck are we leaving so early,” I grumbled, getting into the passenger seat.
“It’s eleven o’clock.”
“So?”
“So some of us have work that happens during daylight hours.” Rye pulled his shades on, and I simply pulled the hood of my hoodie over my eyes. “I have an idea. Why don’t you try sleeping in the bed instead of banging Barnie every waking moment.”
“Fuck off,” I muttered, closing my eyes. “I was going for a run,” I told him as I settled into the plush leather seats. “And I slept,” I mumbled, feeling petulant that I had to defend myself.
“When she left for work?”
“Fuck off, Rye.” His low chuckle made me grin. “Dick.”
“Asshole.”
I didn’t ask where we were going. I was wearing sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie. I knew wherever we were headed would be via Elixir, so I could change at the loft .
“We had an email from Anneta. She wants to know if she can do the bedrooms that’ve been locked to her this week.”
Anneta was the housekeeper. She had been scarce since Isla had been at the house. “Yeah, tell her to come now.”
I could hear his look. It would be both loud and disgruntled. “She isn’t dropping everything for us, Zayn. She has other work.”
“Then she can go back to it when she’s been to the house.”
“It took me months to find someone as discreet as her,” he started to protest, and I smiled inwardly with satisfaction as he started complaining loudly about how I was an insensitive dick.
“You fucking with me?” he suddenly asked. It was my turn to chuckle. “Jerk.”
When we were parked at the club, I headed to the stairs to get to the loft. I didn’t like relying on the elevator, and I needed the workout. I’d spent too many nights—and mornings—tangled with Isla, and I hadn’t worked out properly in days.
“Take a change of clothes with you,” Rye shouted after me. I turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Hey, I said so far today…”
We exchanged a look, and with a shake of my head, I turned and jogged up the stairs to the top floor to change into my “work wear.” After a quick shower, I dressed in a dark-gray suit and a dark-navy shirt with the collar open, and I was putting on my cuff links when I received a phone call. I hesitated when I saw the caller ID.
With a sigh, I answered, otherwise, she’d just call back until I did.
“Mom.”
“You’re screwing Isla Wells ?”
“How are you? It’s so nice to hear from you,” I deadpanned. I finished getting ready with my phone held between my chin and shoulder.
“Do not try to be smart, Zayn McCabe. I will kick your ass.”
Fun fact. She probably would try.
“Who told you?” I knew it would never be Rye. “Julian?” Fucking weasel .
“What I want to know, Zayn, is why you didn’t tell me,” she snapped. “Isla is…”
“Perfect?”
Her groan was very similar to Rye’s. “No, not perfect . Jesus Christ, you saying she’s perfect is making me nauseous.” My mother took a deep breath. “She’s a liability you cannot afford.”
“Funny, I always thought that was you.”
“Zayn, do not fuck with me,” she warned. “I work very hard to keep you out of jail, and while I cannot change you, I can help you, and as I am still your mother, I can advise you when I think you’re being reckless.”
“You work hard to keep me out of jail, and you get paid very well for it. Or have you forgotten who paid for the house you live in? Or the car you drive? How about the four fucking luxury vacations you take every year on my dime? Or the insane number of designer handbags you own?” I held the phone tightly. “Do not mess with me , Mom. You work hard, and you get paid well for it. Who I screw , as you so eloquently put it, is my business. Not yours.”
“Isla is innocent .” Her voice lowered, and I heard her breathing slow. “She doesn’t belong in the world we live in.”
My jaw tightened. “Mom?—”
“ Listen to me, Zayn,” she said sharply. “She’s not the girl for you. She’s an event planner! She lives in a world of tea parties, champagne, and balloon bouquets. She’s a working socialite, for God’s sake.”
“Elixir hosts events,” I reminded her dryly.
“Elixir is a front for something much seedier than event hosting,” she snarled. “Don't do this. Let her go.”
I heard everything she said. Rye had voiced the same concerns but not as strongly. Julian had—well, fuck, I didn’t care what he thought; he was the reason they took her.
“Zayn?”
“I hear you,” I told her truthfully.
“And?”
“Not happening.” I hung up.
I was keeping Isla. Everyone else could fuck off.
Rye was in the office, checking his gun. His movements stopped when I walked in. “What?”
“Just had a phone call.”
He resumed what he was doing. “Who’s brave enough to put the glint of murder in your eyes?” he joked.
“Gillian McCabe.”
He snorted. “Ah, how is Mommy McCabe?”
“Pissed.” I cocked my head as I watched him. “Someone told her about Isla.”
Rye didn’t even balk. “Julian? Spineless fucker.”
I shook my head as I looked away. “I’m really enjoying this side of you,” I told him. “This petty little jealous act you have going on.”
“The guy’s a dick.” Rye didn’t blink as he spoke. “Always has been, always will be. I wonder what he has over you because there’s no way you put up with his shit for so long unless he has something on you.”
I looked down on the pretense of picking up my own gun. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”
“Bullshit. ”
I looked up and met the hard stare of my right-hand man.
“I’ve seen you cut people off a lot quicker, but he gets to hang around. Never made any sense.” He rubbed his jaw. “It has to be blackmail of some sort. Or…has it always been about Barnie?”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” I reminded him. “And I’ll tell you what I said then. Leave it.” I turned to the door. “Where are we going, and how long will it take?”
He hesitated for a moment, and then, with a shake of his head, he tucked his gun away and followed me out of the office. “Not far, I reckon it’ll take an hour tops.”
“Sounds good.”
“Where’s your change of clothes?” he asked as we descended the stairs to the lower level.
“You’ve got the guns out. I don’t expect we’ll be getting up close and personal for this one.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to assume.”
An hour later, I knew why I needed a change of clothes. My knuckles were split, my sleeves rolled up, and blood covered my shirt and face. My fist connected with a cheekbone again, and this time, I heard the snap.
The guy’s head lolled on his shoulders before dropping down to rest on his chest. I stepped back and looked at the guy from last night as he dropped in a heap at my feet.
“He passed out again,” I grumbled.
“Mmhmm.” Rye was behind me. “You done?”
I turned to look at him. He wasn’t as bloody, but he was still not walking down the street anytime soon.
“He threatened Isla.”
Rye waved his hand in a ”carry on” motion. “Then get it out of your system.”
He’d told me in the car. Isla had followed us into the meet last night. The younger guy had seen her, and she had run. I knew she hadn’t stayed in the car. I knew she was in that building. I didn’t know that she was spotted. I wouldn’t have left the building if I had. Rye only saw it this morning when he checked back on the tapes.
We documented everything. We recognized the risks of it falling into the wrong hands, but in our line of work, sometimes—though rarely —one or both parties we mediated for would turn around and attempt to back out of a deal or proposal. Only once did I have to retrieve the tape and prove the terms were as I had disclosed.
I’d never been questioned again especially after I had extracted the truth from both parties in front of their peers. It hadn’t been fast. It hadn’t been painless.
Today, we had come to talk—only talk. But when he commented on her being a pretty girl and told me what he planned on doing with my girl, I no longer wanted to talk to him.
I pulled back. The fight left me. “He stopped fighting,” I said, quickly unbuttoning my shirt.
“Yup. About ten hits ago.” Rye didn’t judge. He just stated facts as he saw them.
I thought about it. “You knew I needed to punch someone?”
He looked up from pulling off his pants, realized I was serious, and straightened. “It’s been bottling up too long,” he told me. “You needed an outlet, lucky for us, Barnie caught us one.” He wet his lips. “But…I’m not repeating myself here, I just want you to hear me say it.” He tossed his pants onto the pile, catching my shirt as I threw it to him. “This shithead?” He gestured to the guy lying unconscious at my feet. “Is going to be the first of many. You going to beat the shit out of all of them?”
“If I have to. ”
He held my stare. “Then we have bloody knuckles for a long time before they get the message.”
“ I do.” I unbuckled my belt. “It’s my knuckles, not yours.”
When we were both stripped, he tossed the bag of spare clothes he brought me. It was sweatpants and another hoodie. I pulled them on as Rye dressed in similar clothes.
“They come for her, then they come for you,” he told me, pouring the lighter fluid over the clothes. He looked up at me as he lit the match. “They come for you. They die.”
“On that, we agree.” He dropped the match, and we walked out of the warehouse, leaving the clothes and the guy who threatened my woman behind to burn.
When we got back to Elixir, I went upstairs to change. Isla was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee.
I hesitated as I closed the door behind me and saw the look on her face. She didn’t ask me to talk. She just waited.
Quiet.
Still.
I wasn’t sure if it was because I literally had blood on my hands or if it was the way she looked at me now that burned most—like she’d seen something she wasn’t ready to understand but knew she couldn’t unsee.
I owed her the truth. Or enough as I could offer.
“I need a shower,” I told her quietly. “Five minutes?”
She nodded, and in the bathroom, I fired off a quick text to Rye to tell him she was here so he would know if he needed to come in.
Once out of the shower, I got dressed in my suit. I had a long night ahead of me. My work didn’t stop because of a difficult discussion.
We sat at opposite ends of the couch, my hair still damp from the shower. Isla wore her work clothes: wide-legged pants and a blouse that highlighted the glow of her lightly tanned skin. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders. She wore little makeup; she didn’t need it.
But her guard? That was up. High.
There was only one thing for it. I lowered mine first.
“So,” I said as I leaned back and watched her. “What are we talking about?”
Isla rolled her eyes and reached for her coffee cup.
“You want to know why I stay in this life?” I asked, my voice low, almost careful. Isla didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I took a breath. “When I was thirteen, my father lost everything. Not through gambling or anything like that. Through pride.”
Her brows knit slightly.
“You probably weren’t aware.” She shook her head. “You didn’t know much about me back then. Julian and I weren’t friends until high school. My dad…he owned a small contracting company with his cousin. Dad took on a job too big for him. Hired guys he couldn’t pay. Promised people things he couldn’t deliver. The man was all mouth and no leverage.” I looked away, bitterness twisting my features. “ That’s never changed. But back then, he ended up owing money to people he should’ve known not to cross. Didn’t know how to ask for help, didn’t think he needed it.”
I leaned back, tilting my head upwards, my eyes on the ceiling now. It was easier. Easier than seeing her process it.
“They came one night. I didn’t know what was happening. I just remember the shouting.” I looked back at her. “I remember my mother crying… And…” I licked my teeth. “And I remember my father begging . I was hiding in the hallway closet with a baseball bat. Like that was going to fix anything.” I snorted with contempt.
Silence stretched between us. Isla didn’t move.
“They didn’t kill him. Well, you know that.” I blew out a breath. “Not physically. But they broke every finger on both his hands. Took his van. Cleaned out our safe. Landed a few punches on my mom. Left her on the kitchen floor. Left him crawling on the porch while the next-door neighbors pretended not to see.” I watched her as I spoke. Saw the horror in her eyes. Saw the sympathy. “And he still owed them.” I exhaled. “So, I paid them.”
Isla’s eyes were wide. “What?”
“Not in cash,” I quickly amended. “In favors. Running errands. Delivering envelopes. Listening to conversations I shouldn’t have been in. I was fifteen when I learned how to move money across two state lines and make it clean.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
“Mom went to law school. She got righteous with her fury.” I laughed at the thought of my criminal defense attorney mother, a mastermind in the courtroom, compared to who she was back then. “Dad and her split, which you know. Law school, a rebellious kid, and a broken man didn’t mix well for a happy home. He took me with him when he left. Mom was very vocal in her disapproval of my developing… talents .”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I told her quietly. “I was very good at what I did. I got good fast . I saw how things worked—how power flowed. Who owed who. What it cost. It wasn’t about crime, Isla.” I kept my eyes on her. “It was about never being that kid again. Never hearing my mother scream like that again. Never watching someone I loved be powerless.” I saw the confusion mixed with the lingering pity. “Never hiding in a closet again.”
“And now you’re the one with the power,” Isla said softly.
I nodded. “It doesn’t come for free, but it means no one touches or threatens what’s mine. ”
Her eyes flicked away.
“I’m not proud of all of it,” I added. “But I’m not sorry for it either. I made sure my family never needed anything again. I made sure I never owed anyone . And yeah, I made myself useful to a lot of people most wouldn’t sit across from at dinner. But I’ve never made excuses about who I am. I’ve just made sure I never go back.” I paused. “Mom decided to channel her new skills for my benefit, she doesn’t approve, but she knows, and understands, why.”
I let the words hang there. I wasn’t asking for forgiveness—only understanding.
When she finally met my gaze again, I saw it—recognition. Not agreement. But something softer.
“I don’t know if I can live like this…” she confessed.
“I think you already are.”
She didn’t answer. Just curled her legs beneath her and looked away.
But she didn’t leave.
And for me? That was everything.