13. Zara #2
I grip his cheeks and pout. “I’ll take care of your booboos afterward.”
That brings a genuine smile to his face, and he gestures for me to lead the way.
Inside the training building, I take my place behind the cameras in the monitoring room, recognizing him even beneath the heavy gear.
It’s him against ten of my best men.
He will lose, but the proud asshole would never admit that, taking them in with obvious boredom.
Something we have in common.
To make matters worse, my team wears the newest bulletproof attire. The extra layer of protection ensures no pain, no bruises. Vian wears an older model, and when he realizes it, he stares right into the first camera and mouths, “Your ass is mine.”
I shake my head at him, stifling my smile even though he can’t see me. It’s like every interaction between us has become more about uncovering our hearts than our lives. I would like to know his. Maybe I can live vicariously through his past, make it mine somehow so I have an anchor.
Good plan, depending on him.
Groaning, I focus on the training room. It is set up to simulate real-life combat situations for my soldiers. Will Vian survive against my best? If he gets caught, torment awaits. That’s the deal.
I’ve seen what my men can do, and I squirm in my seat, rolling my ring, suddenly anxious. I am about to end this farce. Sleeping more than one night together is another inevitable thing, so why would he agree to my proposition? He is even crazier than I am.
What is he even trying to achieve? Ugh, he maddens me. I force myself not to shoot to my feet and taser him myself so this show ends already. But no, he takes bodily torture into account just to have more of me—deranged but sweet.
I imagine what it would be like to be truly loved by him. I know what it’s like to feel wanted by him, and it’s beyond incredible. Better not to find out, or I will lose the rest of me. But what if I win everything else?
Done being stuck in my head, I stare at the monitors when the door opens, catching Conrad from the corner of my eye as he scratches his neck and looks puzzled. “Is this some modern marriage bullshit?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Enlighten me.”
I purse my lips, remaining quiet.
“I vetted her. You can visit her next week,” he says, eyes set on the cameras just like myself.
“Thank you.”
He occupies many roles in my life, feeling like the only family I have.
“He’s very consuming, demanding, arrogant, cunning, ruthless,” I sigh, watching him take another one of my men down. How does he do that? “It’s unsettling.”
“Because he makes you feel things. Embrace them instead of fighting them.”
“Says the relationship expert,” I mumble. His sexuality is a private topic, but fuck whoever has a problem with that. He’s more of a man than most aspire to be.
One hour later, they’re on his tail. Shots ring in a hailstorm of rubber, and even if they’re not real bullets, they still hurt like hell, and I expect some to hit their mark.
Conrad cocks his head at me, waving a hand toward the cameras. “What do you think you will achieve? No amount of physical pain will torment him. He’s been through hell and back. His name is not whispered in the underworld for nothing. Let me tell you what type of man he truly is.”
Though I already know, I still require confirmation.
“He is unafraid. A man who has lost everything fears nothing. He built his empire after suffering three major losses—the people who shaped him. You live in the hell of not knowing. He lives in the hell of knowing. You could find peace in each other. Stop the war. You hurt enough,” he sighs, eyeing me with an intent stare. “What is he called, Zara?”
“The King of Ashes,” I whisper. It’s said he destroys his enemies until nothing remains, crumbling their empires to the ground. Nothing ever satisfies him, hungering for more power, craving more of everything.
But getting to know him, I deduce he is compensating for something. His loss. Or maybe he was always a man destined to rule the underworld.
Just then, he discovers a camera and smirks at me right before he ducks and plunges a knife into the thigh of one of my men sneaking up on him.
“Does he know about the training?” I huff, my annoyance reaching a new level. How is it possible to be this damn good?
“When you reach his level, you must be better than anyone else. You won’t teach him humility. You will just anger him more with men he thinks won’t be able to protect you.”
“My men would die for me, Conrad,” I say, gnashing my teeth.
“But you’re paying them. What are you paying Vian with?”
The question hits me out of nowhere, unbalancing me.
It rattles me to my foundation, and without a second thought, I shoot up. This is our fight. I am about to go change in the locker room when I spot two of my men circling him. Another one jumps from the upper level and lands right on top of him.
I guess we move to part two of the session, torn between conflicting emotions—giddy that my men succeeded and troubled for him when I see him wink at the camera, a smug expression stretching across his face.
The asshole planned to get caught.