Chapter 43
When exiting the bathroom, Zeno enters the room, a pile of clothing in his arms. Wordlessly, he approaches, drops the items onto the ground by my feet, mutters, “Dress,” and disappears toward his bathroom.
I wait until the door’s shut behind him before dropping the towel, not thinking twice about following his order. I pull on the black sports bra, leggings, and white workout tank, all noting the theme with the outfit. Next the black sneakers with pink trim, which look used, but not overworn. I avoid thinking about who they likely belong to.
Zeno emerges, dry in a plain white tee and sports shorts that showcase the bandage taped to his leg, still wet from earlier. His eyes are like a field during a storm as his steps take him right to me, jaw set and back rigid, seemingly more pissed than earlier. Clearly, he lost an internal battle between arriving and his clothing change.
I gesture to my fresh set of clothes. “Should I thank you for these or…?” My question is half snarky, indicating gratitude isn’t what he’ll be receiving, no matter his answer.
He shrugs and heads for the door. “Thank me or not, I don’t give a fuck. Either way, follow.”
Out of here? He’s opening the door before I have a chance to question what he smoked between the interruption of my shower and now. Or what’s been pumped into the air to make him risk this. Because it is a risk, allowing me out of here. I’ve played along thus far out of necessity, but whatever’s about to happen may change the board.
I trail slowly, glancing around the hallway, searching for someone to undoubtedly jump out at me and slap cuffs on my wrists. No one’s here, and when Zeno makes it to the top of the stairs, he turns, finding me still lingering by his room.
“Quickly, Volkov.”
“Patience, Mancini.”
A strange expression comes over his face but it only lasts a brief second before he’s shaking his head, scowls, and starts down the staircase, expecting me to follow. I do, catching him quickly by the time he reaches the bottom, and stride across the foyer to the entrance.
The same entrance he shoved me through the day before, he opens, tipping his head for me to exit. I pace closer, eyes on him rather than the vast outdoors.
“You’re kidding.”
He must be clinically insane. I’m the one who had the breakdown, but he’s the one acting differently.
“Not at all.”
I walk by him, feeling a prickle trail down my spine. I’m not dumb enough to think he’s letting me go by any means, which is all the more reason to keep my wits about me. He could have left me and my people in a mass grave inside my mansion’s foyer, but opted to take me with him, which means he has other plans. Plans that for some reason include allowing me outside?
The sound of the door shutting and him approaching is muted by the sheer beauty of the land. While I noted it yesterday, it feels different in the morning sunlight. Fresher. A crisp scent blows through the grass, packed with the promise of a new day. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, so it’s a gentle glow over the grassy mounds, glaring in my eyes, but I don’t blink away. At home, the sun is often shielded by the forest, and while I’ve appreciated the way it glows through the trees, this blanket of light is beautiful—more so than I’d care to admit aloud.
So distracted by the land, I miss Zeno’s purposeful stride right by me and down the side of the villa. All this for him to walk away from me? Or does he honestly believe I’d willingly follow him? At least in the house, I’ve yet to see anything dangerous, but he could very well be walking me straight to another chamber of captivity.
I scan the house, specifically the rooftop. If he’s going to take me outside, that’s because there’s an insurance policy hanging around in the form of snipers. But I spot no one, which only makes my apprehension grow, my throat tight with its next swallow.
He wouldn’t be this stupid. I could risk the chance by running the way his car brought us yesterday. Worst case: I’m shot in the back. Decent: he catches me and I confirm there’s no one here. Best: I escape.
Waiting for my Elite to arrive has always been plan A, but if he’s going to hand me this opportunity, why not make them plan B instead?
Zeno’s still striding away, his pace sluggish as though giving me the opportunity to catch up. Expecting me to. And probably from his injury.
This must be some sort of game. If not snipers, then he’s waiting for me to call his bluff. It doesn’t answer the why though. And the answer to that is still putting distance between us.
Run or figure out his plan? The answer seems so fucking obvious— too obvious. So obvious, he’s predicting I’ll make it. Which means, I need to go for the alternate route.
I turn around and jog his way, quickly catching up, hoping with every fibre of my being that I didn’t ruin my one and only shot.
Once I’m beside him, I ask, “How many guns are pointing my way?”
“None,” he replies without a beat. His nonchalant tone and lack of rigidity suggests it’s the truth. But what does he gain by not having weapons trained on me? Who’d risk such a thing when an enemy’s involved?
Ugh! I’m going to drive myself crazy trying to decipher this. As Pakhan, I’ve learned people are fairly predictable. Survival is their main focus, and anything else is secondary. Zeno, from the first instance I saw him in the club, has been anything but predictable.
He’s challenging me in ways no one ever has before, and I despise him for it.
Maybe because you see some of yourself in him. If my mental self had a physical manifestation, she’d be shot dead this instant.
“So when you said I wouldn’t make it off the property earlier…”
“I lied,” he finishes with a shrug and a peek my way. “You’d do the same in my position.”
“I wouldn’t because my threat would be true. You wouldn’t make it off my lands, thanks to the guards I have stationed there.”
He throws me a sideways, disbelieving look. “Except I did make it away. Essentially. Your men never found me, and had you not shot me, I would have escaped, life intact.”
I bite my tongue before verbally grumbling aloud since the asshole made a very true point there.
Zeno angles us farther away from the house, and that’s when I notice we’re following a distinct path, the grass underfoot a light, muted green from the rest. He’s walked this direction frequently enough to leave his marks behind.
I glance backwards at the house, stomach churning that I didn’t take the chance when I had it. Although, he could still be lying, and why wouldn’t he be? Knock my guard down with the expectation of me bolting, and then his men will attack.
“You couldn’t be dumb enough to risk me out here without weapons.”
He glances my way, a crooked smirk implying he’s way too casual about all this. So opposite from the knots forming in my gut. “Consider it a sign of good faith.”
“For what possible purpose?”
Instead of responding, he takes off in a slow jog. I watch him stretch the distance between us, feeling torn over which way to run myself. After him, until I know what’s this all about, or the opposite way and try escaping.
For the second time, I probably make the incorrect decision and run after him because it’d be too easy to allow me to simply walk away from his house without a care. He wouldn’t bring me outside without some sort of guarantee I couldn’t overtake him. There’s more he’s not telling me.
It’s ironic that I might be running toward further captivity rather than freedom, but I do so regardless, matching my pace to his. If anything, maybe I can learn something about him, how his mind works in whatever fucked-up game he’s concocting, since he’s had years on me.
“How’s your leg?” He’s a day into his healing. It can’t possibly be feeling good.
“Hurts like a bitch.” He smirks. “Nothing that’ll kill me, so don’t you be stressing about my life.”
I snort because the prospect of him dying isn’t why I asked. His point has me wondering why I asked at all.
As our run stretches into minutes, my worries, anxiety, and semi-plans start fading away for the simple notion of how good this feels. It’s annoying that it’s Zeno granting me this pleasure. Even though it’s only been two days since my last run, when I found him in the woods, it’s exactly what it is: pure, unbridled pleasure to feel the morning breeze over my skin, to let my mind wander free. Well, as free as captivity allows for.
“What are you playing at?”
His eyes shift to the side. “Told you, good faith.”
Bullshit. I don’t believe that for a second, but I’ll play along—for now. “Yes, but why?”
“You were freaking out in my shower. Figured you needed out of there before you snapped. Fresh air’s healthy for you, haven’t you heard?”
“Thought we’re referring to that as ‘processing.’”
He only laughs, shaking his head slightly. “You seem to forget I know a whole lot about you, Miss Volkov. You run every single morning around your property. You haven’t missed a day since your father’s death.” He gestures to the vast land in front of us. “Your record remains.”
His words nearly trip me; my feet sliding over the morning dew still clinging to the grass. I have no response for how my heart beats a bit faster, even when I know it’s unwise. Zeno isn’t doing this to be nice, but rather to lower my guard.
More reason I can’t allow it to work.
“What’s to stop me from taking off?”
“Me. You run, I’ll chase.”
I scoff. “I’d beat you easily. Especially with the hole in your leg.”
When Zeno slightly changes our direction, continuing over the faded grass like it’s a habitual route, I begin doubting my last statement.
He confirms my suspicion by saying, “Hate to tell you, but you’re not the only runner between us. But go on.” He jerks his chin to the path in front of us. “Try to beat me.”
Despite the challenge, my steps slow to a near walk, and he immediately matches my declining speed. He wants to make this point, which means I can work this to my favour. Going along with our answer for an answer game because while I now know why he hates my family, there’s still a lot of unknowns I may benefit from.
Between paced pants, I manage, “Your definition of torture is very strange, Mancini. But I don’t race anyone for free.”
“You want more answers.”
“Yes.”
Zeno’s lips fold down with consideration before he comes to a complete stop, lifting his hand to point farther down the path. “See that bush?”
The one sitting about two hundred meters away. “Mhm.”
“Beat me there, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“‘Anything’ is pretty vast. Want to narrow that down?”
His smirk is playful and makes my stomach twist in a pleasurable way. “You won’t win, so my word choice doesn’t matter.”
“Cocky.”
It strikes me then that our conversation went from hateful to playful in the course of mere hours…and I don’t know how to process that.
“Ready?” he asks, breaking my thoughts for a much more useful direction.
“Waiting on you.”
“Go.”
I take off, borrowed shoes digging into the grass, arms pumping. Zeno’s practically maintaining my speed, exactly as he claimed he’d be able to, and at this point, we’ll both make it to the bush at the same time. Hate to say, but he must be pretty fast, if he’s matching my speed while injured. I’d be curious how fast he is when healed.
I refuse to tie.
With a deep inhale, I cut in front of him quickly, forcing him to slow or hit me, knowing what self-preservation does to a person. As expected, he slows slightly and I gain the extra foot on him.
Three seconds away…two…there!
I arrive at the finish line only for a body to slam into me.