Chapter Twenty-Three
Zayden
It’s almost dark out by the time everyone leaves. My arms are sore; it hurts to even lift them, let alone fight. Thankfully, the drip ended, and I’m able to rest. All while taking care of sleeping beauty—maybe I should kiss him. Maybe then he will wake up. And I can ask him what the fuck happened…
If I'm being honest, I’m kind of relieved that Ezra suggested I stay here with Thiago until he wakes up or sends Elijah to watch over him.
Which should be soon, since my fight is tonight.
There’s a nagging feeling that won’t fuck off, something doesn’t feel right.
My stomach keeps rolling and dropping, and then there’s the weight that has settled right in the middle of my chest. And no matter how much I swallow…
I can't seem to dislodge it. I didn’t like the idea of Elijah being the one to watch over him, but I hated the idea of him being alone and unaware more.
Especially without knowing what exactly happened to him.
My hands go numb from the cold that bites through my flesh, my knees continue their tortured bouncing, and the anxiety is enough to suffocate me.
I blow out a breath trying to anchor myself, and my eyes drop to his chest. The steady rhythm proves he’s still here…
The dorm feels too quiet with Safra sleeping and without Nico.
I stretch my arms above my head, feeling the deep ache in my muscles.
I groan from the discomfort, arching my back to stop the stiffness that steadily thrums my lower back.
A yawn escapes my lips, feeling the exhaustion creep up on me, and no matter the silence that surrounds me, I can’t quiet my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about the accident.
The worst part is sitting alone with all the could-haves and the unknown. If only the asshole would wake up and tell me what happened, it would at least ease my mind. Or so I hope…
Instead, I’m sitting in front of him, eyes tracing over the cuts and bruises that mar his flesh.
There’s seven in total. One deep gash at his temple, red and angry from the stitches.
Another six smaller ones scattered along his jaw and collarbone.
The rest are bruises, ranging from violet to a sickly yellow.
The lamp beside the bed hums, faintly throwing a weak halo over his face.
My fingers twitch, desperate to trace every jagged edge that adorns his perfect features.
I swallow hard, and still the weight in my chest doesn’t move.
According to Rowan, he’s fine and just needs time to recover…
So why is he still sleeping? It’s been hours.
Seeing him so vulnerable and hurt makes me want to punch my fist through the wall, the anger that simmers quickly coming to a boil.
I let out a deep grunt when I rise to my feet and, once again, start to pace through the room, forming a pattern between sitting and pacing, until I break free from it. This time I stand beside the bed, leaning over him.
“Wake up,” I whisper, letting my hand travel towards his. “Just… wake up and annoy me. The silence is unbearable.”
My gaze roams over him, utterly aware of the different emotions that fight for dominance inside me.
My senses begin to heighten, all too fucking aware of Safra.
The urge to kiss him has me so close I can practically taste him, and fuck do I want to.
I close my eyes, allowing my mind to fabricate a lie.
One where he’s the water I’ve been too desperate to drink.
My eyes flutter open, landing right on his lips, cracked and in need of moisture.
One kiss won’t hurt. It’s only a small fix to stop the itch.
I lick my lips, when suddenly, his fingers curl around my wrist—weak but hard enough to let me know he’s aware.
“Easy… Ruas,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, yet maintaining his usual smugness. “If you’re gonna kiss me, at least warn a guy. I’m injured, not dead.”
I freeze.
Relief gathers inside me before imploding into every pore, lifting the weight that holds me down.
I’m weightless and floating in the air. A flightless bird, ready to take off.
That’s how I feel, and when I look down to meet his gaze, the intensity of his stare is enough to make my stomach flutter with millions of butterflies alongside the erratic beating of my heart.
Heat works its way up my neck, and I notice the lopsided grin on Safra’s face.
I’m fucking blushing.
“It’s okay… I would have done the same.”
I clear my throat, shaking my head. “I wasn’t—”
“You were.” His lips twitch, but he tries to hide it. “Seriously, it’s okay. I get it. I’m irresistible.”
I let out a breath that’s a half-laugh that miserably fails to hide the emotion that is quickly overriding every wall I held locked in place. “You mean insufferable.”
He shakes his head, his hazel orbs dragging over my face. “No… I meant just that—irresistible.”
I roll my eyes, trying to hold back the urge to smile, and slowly, he chips at my armor. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s alive and well that has my chest expanding until I feel like it’s about to burst open.
“I would have to disagree.”
Thiago lets out a pained groan when I shift, trying to escape his grip, and even though the asshole just woke up and is injured, he holds on like he’s afraid to let go. “Are you sure about that? I mean, you’re still hovering like you’re about to climb into bed with me.”
My hand moves to his side, and without a word, I squeeze, making his grip tighten around me as he wheezes through the pain. I can’t help it, violence is truly my communication. It wasn’t hard enough to cause him any real damage, but enough to make him let go and laugh in pain until it fades.
The room settles into a quiet that feels heavier than before. Maybe it’s tension… Maybe it’s the question lingering at the tip of my tongue like a bomb. I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. “What happened?”
“The accident?” he questions, the tease in his voice gone.
I nod, and Safra exhales, his nose, eyes flicking towards the ceiling.
“I lost control,” he finally says after a moment of silence.
“Driving too fast, thinking too little.” I couldn’t help but stare at him, at the bruises, the stitches, soaking up the exhaustion carved into his face—and all I can think of is how close he came to dying.
How many times I wished he’d disappear from my life, to only be shown what that would feel like.
Only to be punched in the face with the realization that I would really not like that. Like ever.
“You’re an idiot,” I mutter. “Daddy’s money not only bought you an education but a license.”
Thiago’s mouth curves, faint but genuine, his gaze clashing with mine. “You stayed?”
I swallow hard, feeling the pressure in the air close in on us, and running my tongue over my teeth, wondering what to say. Knowing that if I say nothing, I might as well confess to him what I feel inside. And that would never happen. “Don’t feel too special. It was an order from Ezra.”
He huffs out a laugh, though it sounds more like disbelief. “Ahh… Look at my meu principe only following orders when they involve babysitting me.” He winks. “Was the kiss included in his order?”
My eyes narrow into slits. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter, standing to grab my school jacket from the chair. “He said someone had to make sure you didn’t choke on your own arrogance while unconscious.”
Thiago smirks, eyes half-lidded. “And you volunteered?”
“More like was drafted,” I shoot back. “Talking about Ezra, he should be pulling up any minute with my replacement.”
He sits up, wincing in pain when he does. “Wait…. What?”
As if on cue, tires screech, and loud rap music shakes the windows. The sound slicing through his ragged breaths, Thiago’s brow furrows. “Guess that’s the replacement.”
I nod, tugging the jacket on. “Yep, have fun with Elijah. Heard he’s quite the charmer.”
Safra’s mouth parts to speak, the words dying on his lips with the knock on the door. I turn my back on him, walking over and pulling it open. Elijah stands there, grinning like he owns the night, hands shoved into his jeans pockets.
“It's time,” he chides. “Break a leg.”
The insinuation in his words makes a scowl form. I don’t bother addressing him or looking back. I simply follow orders, mindlessly walking towards Ezra’s car and slipping into the passenger seat.
“How is he?” Ezra asks, watching me put on my seatbelt. I glance to the door,the engine growling beneath us.
“Awake and back to his usual self.”
Ezra's lips stretch into a polished smile, relief evident in his features. “Good… good.”
With that, he places the car into drive and peels out of the parking lot without another word.
We head towards the locker room, and the smell of blood and sweat is thick enough to taste. The music vibrates through the walls, and the air hums with anticipation and cheap cologne. Ezra walks ahead, silent with his gaze locked on his screen.
“Why do I need to lose tonight?” I finally ask the question that has been plaguing my mind since the words left his lips.
He stops, his hand running through his silky strands. “Because there’s someone asking a lot of questions. Plus, Peter bet a lot of money on the asshole fighting.”
I frown. “Why would Peter bet against his own?”
Ezra's jaw flexes. “Because it’s chess, Zayden. And Greyson wants you to lose. He’s got money riding on it—and something else.”
“What else?”
Ezra hesitates, thumb tapping his phone screen. “You. If you lose, you’re his. Peter agreed. And no, I don’t know what that means. Just… don’t win.”
My pulse matches the hum of the bass, hard and fast. “So that’s it?” I ask. “I’m being sold off for a bet?”
Ezra’s flat expression doesn’t change. “We’re keeping the peace. You win tonight, you won’t get close to Greyson, and we need that.”
I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the firm lump. “And does Safra know?”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You belong to Velarium, not Thiago.” His words hit like a slap—sharp and final. A reminder that I'm not a person here. I’m property. A pawn in someone else’s game.