17. Hyacinth
SEVENTEEN
HYACINTH
Lois
You’re too slow.
The text she’d sent this morning burns in my mind.
I’d fully intended to spend another day in bed to let my back finish healing even though it’s mostly fine except for the lingering soreness.
Zane had ordered me to take care of it.
I’m so tempted to ignore my mother.
She didn’t threaten me.
She can’t hurt me.
But my gut churns, so I get up, roll my shoulders to relieve the soreness, and get dressed in a nice blouse and skirt.
I’d told Zane we couldn’t do this. That I don’t want the mess. I need to follow through. I make my way to the shopping area where my tracker tells me Zane’s car is.
He really needs better security. Yes, I’d hidden the tracker well, but good security would be sweeping for trackers regularly.
And fine, I’d put it in a spot that was extremely well hidden, but that means Zane’s security isn’t competent enough.
I walk into the mid-tier restaurant. The hostess smiles at me. “Hi! Can I get you seated?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m with somebody. I see he’s here already. Thank you.” I keep my voice light and feminine, and wave to her as I stride past.
Lionel isn’t the only one who can get past helpful staff. As long as you pretend you’re supposed to be there, most people will believe you.
Zane is sitting alone at the table, reading a book. He’s dressed more formally more usually, with a tie around his neck. He did not go so far as to wear a jacket, though.
His bodyguard has taken up a spot by the bar, surveying the room with a glass of water in hand.
I go to the bar and order a drink.
The bodyguard’s eyes slide over me. I chat with the bartender, ignoring the scrutinizing look.
Then he looks away again.
Absolutely incompetent.
“Can you send this to the gentleman over there?” I ask the bartender. “Tell him it’s from the lady by the bar.”
The bartender sighs. “Sure. What should I do if he doesn’t want it?”
“He’ll want it,” I say confidently.
The bartender rolls her eyes, but she flags down a server to take the drink to Zane.
Zane looks up from his book, then closes it as his eyes zero in on me.
Unlike his bodyguard, he doesn’t seem fooled by the clothing.
He gets up, his entire body radiating tension despite the easy smile on his lips, and crosses over to the bar. The bodyguard stiffens at his approach, but he, professionally, stays where he is.
Zane leans against the bar, considering me with an unreadable expression. “Someone told me never to accept drinks from strangers,” he drawls. “You never know what their intentions are.”
I smile at him. “Am I a stranger at this point?” I glance down at his book. “What were you reading? You didn’t even notice me enter.”
He holds it up, letting me see the cover. There are tanks on the front, with the title vaguely denoting something historical. “I guess the book is more interesting than you are. Hello, Sin. Last I heard, you were deathly ill. Why are you out of bed?”
My mother.
No, I’m not going to mention her.
“I got better. And now I hear somebody is out to kill you,” I say, still smiling. My back feels tight. “It’s probably not a credible threat.” I pluck the book out of his hands and read the summary. “This is… a World War I novel?”
I don’t know why, but I hadn’t pictured Zane Vilani as a reader.
I’d been stalking him for weeks, but I never saw him buying books or reading. It was always going to work, meeting people about work, and whipping pretty women who cried after two lashes.
Or sneaking into hotel rooms and making me sob with pleasure.
“Yes,” he says. “Do you read? Or are you too busy stalking people to have time for petty things like hobbies?”
“I read, sometimes,” I protest. Admittedly, not that much. “And I have hobbies! I like watching reality TV. Not the housewives stuff, but the contests for design and crafting. My sister and I make bets about who’s going to win the season.”
I wouldn’t bring up Chrys, or the fact that I have siblings, under most circumstances, but Zane already knows who I am. There’s no use pretending otherwise.
“Chrysanthemum,” he says, a smirk quirking onto his lips. “Your mother was cruel, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” I say flatly.
She still is cruel.
Why had she sent that text? I don’t spot her anywhere in the restaurant. She hadn’t been outside, either.
Did she rig Zane’s car to explode? But that’s extremely splashy, and Forest doesn’t want splashy.
Maybe it was only a warning for me to get my ass into gear.
I flag down the bartender and order a drink for myself. “But our names are no less strange than Zane. And I have a killer nickname.”
Zane’s lips twitch. “It’s very fitting,” he remarks. He doesn’t touch the drink I’d sent over to him, like I’d be gauche enough to try to poison him in public.
I sip on my margarita. “How many other hotel rooms did you sneak into?” I ask. “I bet none of them had good entertainment. Is that why you had to resort to dead boring books?”
“Forty-two. We all have to have hobbies,” he remarks. “Would you rather I say I’ve been pining for you?”
My heart tightens.
“Were you?” I ask, smiling. “I’m sure nobody else compared to me.”
I need to stop flirting.
You’re too slow.
I could slit his throat here and be done with it, except for all the witnesses and potential bystanders to save him.
“You might be right.” Zane considers me. He places his hand on the back of my neck and trails his finger down.
I shiver when he traces over one of the welts he’d left behind.
“They’re true words.” I instinctively sway toward him.
Too slow.
Shit. I can’t do this.
Even if Lionel is right that I don’t want to kill Zane, or that I’m more than attracted to him, I already told him to forget about it.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. If I lure Zane out, I could catch him in a back alley.
Let him push me down and let him fuck my face.
No. I’ll slit his throat.
“Did you have other plans?” I ask, swallowing down my desires. “Or were you intending to spend all afternoon reading at this restaurant?”
“I can think of better and worse ways to spend my time.” He smirks at me. “Some of them are even with you.” He opens a briefcase and slips the book into it. “What are you proposing? That I give you more chances to continue our little game?”
“Were we playing a game?” I get up. I’m an inch or so taller than him, but that doesn’t detract from his presence. “I don’t play, Zane.”
“Aren’t you, though?” he inquires. His eyes flick to the untouched glass, then back to me. “Cat and mouse, a dangerous waltz in which one of us shouldn’t come out alive. Yet here we are.” He shrugs. “Where are we going?”
The other side of the world.
My body longs for him in a way I can’t explain. I haven’t felt like this about anyone since… since I left New Valence.
That’s why I need to pull back. That’s why I told him off. I can’t be with Zane Vilani, because I can’t be with anyone. It only ends in disaster.
“Away,” I say. “Somewhere with fewer eyes.” I glance at his bodyguard. “Unless you desperately want a voyeur.”
One last time.
One more fuck, then I’ll do my job.
“Are you inviting me somewhere private?” he asks. “Because you made it clear you didn’t want me around last time.”
“Did I?” I take a step closer.
My lips part.
If he asked me to, I’d get on my knees now. I want to, so badly.
Our eyes meet, and I silently beg him to do it. Force me. Make a show of it; don’t give me a choice.
“Let’s take a walk,” he suggests instead.
I think there might be regret in his voice.
I nod, and I follow him at his side. I want to hold back, to be the one watching his back, but that isn’t my job.
He wouldn’t allow me to be at his back, anyway.
His bodyguard follows us with some agitation. He bites out a frustrated “Boss!” as we walk out the front door.
Two seconds out in the humid New Valence air, I realize my mistake.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I grab Zane’s hand.
“What—”
I pull on him hard, forcing him against my body, right as the bullet whizzes past him and shatters the restaurant’s front window.
Somebody inside screams. I hear the bodyguard swear. No time to think about any of that though.
“Follow me!” I shout, clasping Zane’s hand tight and running.
She wouldn’t risk shooting me.
As long as I’m between Zane and my mother, he’s safe.
My phone buzzes, and I know that’s her, but I don’t stop.
I get us around the block and behind an alley.
I gather my breath and look at him. “That wasn’t me,” I say, and I don’t know why it’s so important to me that he believe me.
Zane never once complained while we were running, but he’s breathing hard. He nods curtly, glancing behind us. “So your client got tired of waiting,” he says. His gaze scans past me to the entrance to the alley. “But now we’re fish in a barrel.”
I grimace. He isn’t wrong. Mom isn’t going to give up simply because she missed once.
I glance at the other side of the alley. A dead end, thanks to the large fence blocking the path.
I could boost Zane over, leaving me on this side. Would she anticipate that? Is she waiting on the other side of the fence? I turn my attention to the buildings on either side.
There’s an open window on the second floor of one of them. A closed dumpster sits underneath.
I point up. “We can go through there.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “You want us to climb into an unknown building?”
“You can stay here and get shot,” I snap back. “Fuck. We’ve probably got a minute before she shows up.”
“She,” he repeats.
I ignore him.
I get on top of the dumpster and reach out to him. “Come on! I’ll boost you up.”
To his credit, Zane doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t have half of my grace, but he manages to get up on the top of the dumpster. Once he’s there, I urge him closer to the window, and he lets me help him up to the window sill.
He climbs in, then turns around to offer his hand to me.
I’d half expected him to leave me behind.
I jump and grab his hand. His grip is strong as he pulls me up, and as soon as I can reach the window with my other hand, I pull myself up and in.
We shut the window and duck down, out of sight.
For several long moments, we sit against the wall, breathing heavily.
We’re in some teenager’s bedroom. There are posters of half-naked women all over the walls. The desk is cluttered with all sorts of electronics. Clothes are strewn all over the floor, bed unmade.
I start laughing, quietly at first, but the laughter bubbles up harder. I cover my mouth to muffle the sound, for all the good it does.
Zane eyes me askance. “What’s so funny?” he asks, which is better than him asking questions about her.
“This. All of it.” I press my head against his shoulder, still giggling. “We’re in a stranger’s bedroom, surrounded by posters of breasts.”
“Yeah. He could’ve at last had the courtesy to put dick pics all over his walls,” Zane replies dryly, but then he chuckles. “Fuck. I guess it’s better than ending up in some little old lady’s bedroom.”
I drop my hand on top of his. “Dicks would have been better.” I glance up to meet his gaze. “But you prefer the breasts, right?”
I’ve never actually wanted to be a woman. I like wearing the pretty clothes, I enjoy confusing people, but I don’t look at Chrys and wish I’d been born as her. Most of the time, I don’t give a shit what other people think of me, either.
But I know at least one person who would have preferred me as slightly more masculine.
Maybe Zane would prefer me more feminine.
“I do,” Zane replies. He hesitates, then he adds quietly, “Most of the time, at least. It’s… easier.”
I dig my fingers into his skin. “I’m not a woman,” I say harshly. “I like my cock. I like my body. So if you expect me to ever be anything else—”
“Does it matter?” he interrupts me. “You told me to leave. You’re supposed to kill me, remember? You want to bathe in my blood. What I expect, what I want, is irrelevant.”
Right.
I sit up and scoot away from him. I pull my phone out of my skirt pocket and check the texts.
Lois
Unacceptable.
I knew something was off with you.
I’ll take care of this one.
Hyacinth
I’m going to tell Dante.
Zane leans in closer to read over my shoulder. I tilt the phone to give him a better view.
“Lois,” he says slowly. “Your mother Lois, I take it.”
I nod. “Yep. She’s fucking pissed at me.” I scroll up to her earlier text.
You’re too slow.
“She used me,” I say with a chuckle. “She knew I’d find you. She followed me to the restaurant.”
Zane hums. “And what do you plan to tell Dante?”
“That somebody’s out to kill you.” I stuff my phone back into my skirt pocket. The fabric has obvious dirt smears from when I’d climbed up the wall. “He wasn’t the one who ordered a hit on you.”
Something flits across Zane’s expression, and he replies carefully, “Can he call it off? I’m sure I can offer something he wants in exchange for the favor.”
I shrug. “Sure. I’ll suffer for it, but I’d love to be the fly on the wall when he tears into… Well, that’s really not your business.”
“It is my business, actually,” Zane says. “Seeing as how I’m the one with the target on his back.”
I stand up and dust off my skirt, although that does nothing to clean it. “Let me keep a few secrets. Anyway, it was nice chatting. Mom will be gone by now.” I tiptoe to the bedroom door and listen against the door.
Silence.
Hopefully that means nobody’s home. I gently open the door.
Nobody comes out to yell at me, so I’m probably safe in my assumption.
Zane follows in my wake, surprisingly quiet as he trails after me and toward the staircase leading to the first floor. It’s only when we reach the front door of the apartment building that he says, “Thank you.”
I scoff. “Yeah, well. Apparently my brother was right.” I pan my gaze around the street, but I don’t see any hint of my mother anywhere. She’ll try again some other time, but for now she’s gone.
“Right about what?” Zane asks. He steps into my personal space, and I tense when I catch a whiff of his cologne.
“About me.” I take a step back.
Before I can put more distance between us, Zane grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into a kiss.
I resist at first, but he’s forceful. Demanding. My eyes flutter shut and I give over to him.
It’s just a kiss, I remind myself.
But it’s more.
My knees threaten to buckle, and I’d stain the dress even more than it already is.
We’re in public, but I don’t care.
And, more to the point, apparently Zane doesn’t care either.
For a long moment, I lose myself in the kiss, and I wonder what it would be like to have this all the time.
Then I feel something looping around my wrist, being pulled taut, and I jerk back in time to see that he’s secured his tie in place around it. I struggle back, but Zane grips the loose ends tightly.
My cock jumps and my mouth goes dry.
“I think celebrations are in order,” he tells me, his expression daring me to argue with him.
Fight, I mentally yell.
I could kick him. Headbutt him. Yell and draw somebody’s attention.
But I swallow hard, and I say, “Yes, Sir.”