Chapter Eleven #2
“Zane said we could stay at the penthouse if you don’t want to drive me home.” Her voice is quiet, and I turn down the blasting heat.
“The penthouse?” I ask blankly. My mind wasn’t where I’d spend the night.
“Yeah, if you want.” She’s staring at her gloves.
It sounds appealing, a half-hour drive across the city instead of hauling her cute little butt home, but I say, “I can’t. I need to get back and let Baby out. Maybe if I would’ve had some warning, I could have asked Pop to swing by, but he’s probably in bed. It’s too late to call and ask.”
I don’t want her to feel bad, but it’s true. It’s almost midnight, and I’m not going to ask Pop to run over to my place so Baby can pee.
“Oh. I didn’t think of that.”
“I can drop you there, if you want?”
She looks out the window at the parking lot. There’s only one other movie still playing, and there are barely any cars in the lot. “I can’t be there alone.”
“Okay. I’ll bring you home. I knew it’d be a long evening when I asked you out, and if I had minded, I wouldn’t have asked.”
She turns to me, tears brimming in her eyes. “It’s not that. I...I don’t know how to explain. I don’t want to go home yet.”
I smile. “That’s clear enough, and I was thinking the same thing. I don’t want the night to end, either. We can go back to my place.”
Her face crumples. “I can’t sleep with you. I want to see your apartment, but I can’t have sex.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Gage, I’m trying so hard.” She scoots over to my side of the bench and buries her face in my shoulder.
I kiss the top of her head and rub her back. “Zarah, I understand, baby girl. I really do. You’re not ready, and all you have to do is say so. Maybe, if you ever want to, you can tell me that, too. But for now, why don’t we not think about it, okay? I’ll sleep on the couch, and you can have my bed. There won’t be any sex. I promise. And if you’re uncomfortable, tell me, and I’ll bring you home.”
I have a feeling if that happened, we’d never see each other again. She’s a skittish bunny, and if she’s scared of something, she’ll run and not give it a second chance.
She leans away. “Can I kiss you?”
I should tell her no. She’s like a child, pushing her boundaries, and she might do something she’s not prepared for, even if she wants it, but we’ve already kissed and I don’t see the harm in it.
“Sure. I’d like that.”
Zarah presses her lips to mine, and they’re a little salty from her tears. I let her have all the control, and she moves her lips over mine, nestling into me, but all I do is curl my fingers around the nape of her neck and let her take what she wants.
She breaks the kiss. “You didn’t kiss me back.”
“You said you wanted to kiss me, and that’s what you did. Two seconds ago we were talking about sex, and I will repeat it until I’m hoarse that I don’t want you scared of me. You can’t have it both ways.” My voice comes out just a little gruffer than I intended, but I’m hard as a rock and I won’t have a way to ease the pressure until she falls asleep and I can help myself in private.
Zarah moves to her side of the bench and buckles her seatbelt. “Other women can.”
“You aren’t like other women.”
“That’s bad.”
I shift into gear and pull out of the parking lot. My apartment isn’t too far from here, but if I catch all the red lights, it will be twenty minutes or so before we reach the industrial park.
“If I wanted a woman like all the others, I would have one.”
“Like the woman who works at the café.”
“Like Sierra, yes. But I want to be with you. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you should go home after all. We can end it here, tonight. No harm done. Say we tried, there’s a reason for everything, blah blah blah.”
“Is that what you want?” She’s staring straight out the windshield.
“Is that what you want?”
“I want to be normal.”
“That’s immature and childish,” I say mildly, sliding through a yellow light. “You’re never going to be normal. Black took that away from you, and there’s no use wanting what you can’t have.”
Zarah glares at me. “That’s mean.”
“I didn’t say anything that’s not true. You’re brave and you have a spine. You’ll get through this if you put in the work, but you’re always going to have what Black did haunting you like a nightmare you just can’t shake. Learn to live with it, or you can go home, run to your room, hide under the covers, and let life pass you by.”
“You don’t get it. You’ve never had anything bad happen to you.”
I could tell her about the time I broke my leg in sixth grade, or getting turned down for prom, or the night some bastard shot me and I needed three blood transfusions and a six-hour surgery to keep me from meeting my maker, but it wouldn’t do any good. “I’ve had plenty of bad things happen to me, and I’m sure I’ll have plenty more. You’re in control now. Not your brother, not Ash Black. Make your choices and enjoy the rewards and suffer the consequences.”
I want to teach her she’s in charge of her life and nothing will happen without her consent. Not ever again. If she doesn’t like that, too bad.
I slow down, and glittering bright green in my headlights looms the sign for the exit that will spit us out onto the highway that leads to her house. “I can drive you home. It’s your call. I told you that in the woods. It’s always going to be your call because if I do something that spooks you, that’s the end of us. Maybe I don’t get what happened to you, but I do understand that.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I ease the truck toward the exit. I can bring her home. It doesn’t mean I won’t see her again, but she’ll be angry for a good long time. It’s not like I’ve never had a female mad at me before. I’ll live.
Staring out her window, she mumbles something.
I have to choose, or I’m going to piss off the drivers behind me. “What did you say?”
“I said I’d like to see your apartment.” She yells it, her face white, her brown eyes huge and full of demons only she can see.
I jerk the truck to the left and back into the lane. Drivers slam on their horns.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Fuck you.”
I chuckle. I’ll adore her spirit when she lets it out. Black beat it out of her, and I’m going to enjoy the hell out of teasing it back.
“Like I said, darlin’,” I drawl, “whenever you give me the okay, it will be my pleasure.”
She glares out the window the rest of the way to the industrial park, furiously wiping tears off her cheeks the whole time.
In the lot attached to my apartment, I turn into a parking space and kill the lights. She doesn’t let me open the door for her, hopping out before I can even unlatch my seatbelt.
“This is where you live?”
I pick at her words for contempt, but there isn’t any, just curiosity.
“Yeah. It’s been a few years now. Pop owns a little house, but I prefer the lack of upkeep.”
My apartment is in a large, old building. Something the size of my place could easily go for triple or quadruple the rent closer to the city. I open the glass door and lead her up a set of metal stairs. Baby knows we’re coming, and she’s scratching at my door when we hit the landing. I shove the key into the lock, and she shoots out of the apartment, nearly knocking Zarah down in the process.
“Baby! Manners.”
She sits, lifts a paw, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.
“You trained her?” Zarah asks, kneeling to pet her. She pushes her nose against the dog’s and Baby licks her face. They’re a cute pair.
“I had to. Sometimes she helps on cases and I need her to listen to me. Potty?” I ask Baby, and she runs down the stairs. “I have to let her out. Do you want to stay here?”
“No, I’ll go down with you.”
Baby does her business, and I give her time to snoop around. I can tell Zarah’s nervous, and a few minutes of fresh air will let her get her shit together. I wonder if she’ll get any sleep tonight or if she’ll lie awake in my bed waiting for me to come in, preparing to fight me off.
It breaks my heart a little, but she chose to be here, and if she waits up all night for something that isn’t going to happen, maybe it will help her trust me.
I’m getting cold and call Baby inside. She noses Zarah’s hand, overjoyed we’re having a sleepover. Upstairs, I hang up Zarah’s jacket. “You should text your brother and tell him what the plan is. I’ll drive you home in the morning.”
“Okay.”
She pulls a sleek smartphone out of her purse and starts texting. It’s past Baby’s dinnertime, but she waits patiently near her dishes and I fill her bowls with kibble and fresh water. The kitchen could have been cleaner, but Zarah’s visit wasn’t planned or I would have straightened up and changed my sheets. It’s fine. It’s going to have to be. I don’t have a Lucille following me around wiping up crumbs as I drop them.
“How many women have you had here?” she asks, shoving her phone into her purse and hanging it on the same hanger as her coat.
“None.”
That’s part of the reason I don’t mind not changing my sheets. She won’t smell sex in the bedding or another woman’s perfume on my pillow.
“None?” She raises an eyebrow in skepticism.
“None. I’m not a monk, Zarah. If I want a woman, we go to her place.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll show you around.”
The living room is pretty spacious, but it helps I don’t have much furniture. The couch is comfortable enough, and I’ve fallen asleep on it a few times without a woman in my bed. I like watching TV, and I won’t apologize for the size of my flat screen. Say what you want, but it’s not a substitute for anything. At least, I’ve never had any complaints. I like reading too, and I have a few cheap bookshelves filled with thrillers and horror. Not many pictures of family. A couple of me and Pop, but that’s about it. None of Max and me. Mom has some of us when I was a little kid and he was a baby, but as we grew older, there were fewer and fewer chances for her to take them.
“You don’t have a table.”
“I don’t eat here that often.”
I suppose through a stranger’s eyes the hole where a table should be looks funny, but I threw a huge, fuzzy cushion down for Baby. Not that she sleeps on it. She’ll crowd with me wherever I happen to fall asleep, but I’ve never cared so long as she doesn’t fart. Sometimes she keeps her end of the bargain, sometimes she doesn’t. That’s what you get if you cuddle with a dog.
“The bathroom’s this way.”
It’s tiny, and I know after using the bathroom at the house the day I stayed for dinner she’s used to a lot more luxurious accommodations, but the shower has great water pressure, I never run out of hot water, and well, I’m a guy and that’s all I care about. I don’t soak in long bubble baths, and probably wouldn’t even if I had a tub that would fit me. My gym has a steam room and after particularly grueling workouts, I’ll sit in there for a bit. That’s about as frou-frou as my daily maintenance gets.
The bedroom’s next. She follows me, and I scoop some dirty clothes off the floor. Standing in the same room with a bed and Zarah is just as uncomfortable as I thought it would be, and tension crackles around us.
“Do you want something to sleep in?” I doubt she’d want to sleep naked or wearing only her bra and panties. Not if I’m going to be only a few feet away all night.
“Like what?”
“I can give you one of my t-shirts.”
“Oh, that would be fine, thanks.”
“I have an extra toothbrush and I’ll give you a clean washcloth if you want to wash your face.”
“That sounds good.”
She’s looking around my bedroom, but I don’t see anything that would make her run out of here screaming. It looks like a plain old bedroom—a lamp and some books on a nightstand, a chair hidden by a few pairs of jeans that aren’t dirty enough to wash but not clean enough to put away. The bed is messy, but that’s my life, and another thing she’s going to have to get used to if we’re going to be in a relationship.
I shove the dirty clothes into the hamper and resist the urge to smooth my comforter.
Fuck it.
I have a closet full of t-shirts, and I offer her a black one. That should suffice as a nightgown.
The heat in the apartment works, and I won’t have to worry about her lying in bed freezing. Besides showing her where the clean glasses are in case she wants to drink some water before bed, that’s all she’s going to need.
“I’ll put the toothbrush and washcloth on the vanity. Is there anything else?”
A delicate frown crinkles the skin between her eyebrows. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll probably look over a few things Pop and I are working on. I need to get an early start tomorrow and I’ll wake you up about seven to get you home. I hope that’s not too early.”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”
I kiss her forehead. “Goodnight, Zarah.”
“Night.”
I leave her standing uncertainly in the middle of my room and hunt down that spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet and ruffle through the linen closet for a washcloth that doesn’t look worn out. Trying not to like the look of them on my vanity too much, I go upstairs to the loft I turned into my makeshift office. I put together a desk I bought at IKEA, and a couple of filing cabinets store information about old cases. My laptop’s on the desk charging, and Max’s lockbox sits near it.
Zarah putters around downstairs, Baby’s claws clacking behind her as she moves from the bedroom to the bathroom and then back again.
I could tell her goodnight one more time, but I don’t want to agitate her, especially if she thinks she won’t see me now until morning. When I don’t hear Baby’s claws anymore, I picture her in my bed, nuzzling Zarah’s cheek.
I won’t be jealous of my dog.
Instead of working on a case, I wake up my laptop and search a video sharing site for the videos Zarah referred to at dinner. They’re easy to find even though the gala happened six years ago, and I choose a clip that has over ten million views. Wiggling earbuds into my ears to keep the sound from disturbing her, I click Play.
I drink in the crowd as murmuring fills my ears. I’ve never been to something like that, though I’ve had opportunities whenever Mom would invite me out. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had attended the dinner that evening. As Rourke’s wife, she’s an important figure in King’s Crossing, but I don’t see her.
The person who filmed the video is near the front of the room, and I get good look at the fancy salad the guests are eating. Zarah’s dressed in red, her hair so long I bet it reached her ass when she stood. Stella’s there, young and awestruck. It’s a lot to get used to—all that money.
Zane looks like a man in love, if not a little green around the gills and sad, the loss of his parents stamped all over his face. The only time it goes away is when he’s near Stella. I don’t think they’d been together long, but I can see he was already a goner. No wonder her alleged betrayal hurt him so much. He was right. He fell hard.
I’m falling for Zarah, but right now at this moment, if she were to tell me that we weren’t going to work out, it wouldn’t be the end of my world. I would think back to her with fond memories and wonder if she was doing well. All right, so I would miss her. I guess there’s no right or wrong way to fall in love. It happens, and you hope for the best.
Clayton is an elegant speaker, and it’s intriguing, watching him talk about how close he and Kagan Maddox were after knowing he caused his and Lark’s deaths. He’s a striking figure, like Zarah said. He controls the room and people eat out of his hand.
Ashton Black steps up to the podium next, striking in his own right, not as tall as his father, not as filled out, but all the power is there in his eyes. The entitlement. He tells a story of holding Zarah as an infant, and he asks her to join him on the dais. She does, slowly. She pretends she’s trying not to trip over her dress, but I can see it when I zoom in on only her. She was sore and had trouble walking. How many times had Black sold her by then?
He tells her how happy he is she accepted his proposal, and they kiss. He could win an Oscar for the way he looks at her, for the way he sweeps her off her feet and carries her back to their table after his announcement.
Max hypothesized Ash loved and hated her at the same time. It’s possible he loved her, but he loved the power and money more. I believe Zarah now. Who would have listened to her, to Stella, if they had told anyone what Ash was doing? What would they have said? They would have said Zarah and Stella were liars, trying to hurt the powerful Black family. Zarah played her part, pretending to love the bastard. Zane smiles, believing all the lies. The more I learn, the more I realize Ash had Zarah backed into a corner and the only person who could have set her free was Stella.
There are other videos of that night, several of Zarah’s breakdown after Ash kidnapped Stella. Fortunate for Ash. There was no way he could’ve planned that. Conveniently, he could lock her up and not look back.
I replay the first clip, looking for anything that would give away Clayton or Ash, but there’s nothing.
Stella’s hate for the two men is clear on her face, and it makes Zane very uncomfortable. He leans toward her, then away. Toward her, then away. He wants to be near her, but his loyalty to Clayton and Ash stops him. It’s interesting to watch.
The others at the table don’t seem to think anything is wrong. A handsome couple sits next to Stella, dripping jewels, social status, and money.
Only one woman acts like she’d rather be anywhere else, and that’s Willow Black. She doesn’t look at her son and husband when they speak. Her eyes are glued to her plate. She hangs on to Zarah when Ash calls her up to the dais, and Zarah squeezes her hand. Willow knew something was going on. I open another tab and type in “Willow Black.”
There hasn’t been much in the news about her. Gossip sites online spread rumors she’s out of the country hiding, or that she committed suicide. Some even speculate a wealthy lover rescued her and they’ve been living on his vast European estate. Ironically, Truth or Dare printed what really happened to her. While the Feds dig through her husband’s and son’s bullshit, she’s been on house arrest, security guarding her building. She’s able to have visitors, but she’s not allowed to leave. No one knows if she’s happy with the arrangement or not. I don’t know how many people care.
To torture myself, I watch Ash and Zarah again, and he blows even me away. She looks so young. Twenty years old, an orphan, her brother so wrapped up in his own nightmare she must have felt very alone.
I close my laptop. Ash and Clayton are behind bars until their trial, and they stand no chance of parole. Zarah should be free of them, but something in Ash’s eyes belies that thought.
What had Max known that I don’t?
I want to go downstairs, crawl into bed, and hold her close. That she’d freak out if I did is a given, so I don’t. Well, I do go downstairs, but I toss a pillow and blanket on the couch and lie down in my t-shirt and boxers. Baby doesn’t come out of the bedroom to lay with me, and I don’t blame her none.
The apartment’s quiet.
I like knowing Zarah’s under my roof.
What I don’t like knowing is there’s something out there lurking in the shadows.
Max knew.
He knew something, and I need to find out what it is.