Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Zee
Life has a way of bringing you around full circle.
“Fuck-fuck! Yes! Oh, God, yes!”
Just like that, I’m right back where I started.
"Please! Yes, please!"
My back sinks into Mo’s lumpy sofa, the music in my old headphones useless against the pounding coming from the next room.
With rising rents, Mo can only afford a small, cramped one-bedroom on the edge of the downtown core. The walls are paper-thin, the heating subpar. The only perk is that it’s close to her work.
"Oh, god! Harder! Harder!"
Something curls in my stomach as I sink further into the cushion. Raising the volume on my music, I try tuning it out, but I can't.
The rhythm is too familiar.
It drags me right back to him.
It wasn’t just sex with Atlas. It was so much more.
I can bang on the wall and tell her to shut up. But she's the only person who hasn't hurt me. Who am I to deprive her of a good time? Living in the city is tough enough. If this is what she needs to get her through this bullshit, I don’t blame her.
If she’s along for my ride, I’m along for hers. Pun intended.
The rhythmic squeaks slowly stop before giggles erupt from the room.
This isn’t my ideal situation, but it's better than Eastmount.
“I will end her.”
His words run over and over in my head as I clutch the cover of my book.
He lied to me.
He said he wouldn’t hurt me.
Was he saving me for a bigger reward? Was I meant to be his biggest sacrifice to that weird man he spoke to?
“I’m taking her to Father.”
Kon’s last words haven’t stopped haunting me since I peeked through the slit in the parlour doors.
I don’t know if the man with the sharp chin and small demon eyes is their actual father, but there’s a clear hierarchy. Like the rest of the men in Eastmount, Father is attractive, but he reeks of something evil. I’ve never seen Atlas look so small.
My words blur at the words on the page, and it’s getting harder to read what usually comforts me.
With Drey, this stuff was a fantasy. Stuff he would never indulge in. Stuff he never made me feel safe enough to do. But with Atlas, my wildest imaginations come alive.
I can’t make sense of why, after everything, he’d still want me dead. I'm the daughter of his best friend, for fucks sake.
My head falls back against the sofa again, a burn tickling my nose.
It was hard not to cry when I caught that bus from Eastmount.
Tears streamed down my face as I lugged my old belongings to the back of the empty bus.
I couldn’t stomach staying behind those doors to find out what happened to my father.
If he was part of this whole cult-y thing, I don’t want his legacy.
“Zee?” It’s not until Mo’s voice comes from her bedroom door that I even notice she’s standing there. “Oh, no…hey, it’s okay.”
She rushes over in her pink silk robe, and when her arms wrap around me, tears wet my page. She pulls me into her, my head against her chest.
“It’s okay, Zee.” And it all comes out. Everything I’ve bottled up.
Everything he made me feel. “It’s okay. I’m here.
” She rocks me, holding my head, reminding me, while as chaotic as she can be, she’s still the sister I never had, but found.
“Tell me what’s on your mind.” This is why Mo is still family, and right now, she’s all I got.
She locks eyes with mine, the concern of the parents I never had on her face. “Is it him? Did he do something again?”
When I arrived last night, I told her the synopsis of what happened before she made me a rum-laced drink, smoked a joint and watched Drag Race until I dozed off.
She told me she’d see her boy-toy after work today.
I didn’t even hear them come in until I was out of the shower and heard the clear sounds of sexual bliss.
While she knows the logistics, she doesn’t know my heart’s been sucked out of my chest and blasted into hell.
Looking in her round brown eyes, it’s hard to fight it.
“Mo, I miss him.” My voice cracks. Admitting it makes it feel too real. “I really fell for him. I’m so fucking stupid.”
More tears pour out onto her chest. She pulls me tighter.
“Oh, babe.” She rubs my back, her head resting on mine. “Tell me more about this psychopath.”
Mo spends the next hour consoling me, listening to all the things I miss about Atlas. The way he knew my body without having to tell him. The way he knew the things I liked and made sure I had them. The way he made sure no one got in my way, no matter what.
She waits until all the tears are out of me before she says, “You know, Zee, this doesn’t sound like just some older guy.”
“Some older guy who wants to kill me.”
“The hot older guy who wanted to kill you." I can’t believe we’re even saying these words. “It sounds like he cares about you. Are you sure he wasn’t saying those things to that weird guy to keep you safe?”
It doesn’t matter. “He kills people, Mo. I-I saw it.”
A beat.
She thinks you’re terrible.
You said it would never happen again.
She’ll remind you of your pills.
She’ll judge you for what you did.
“They deserved it.” My brows lift, my eyes darting to hers. “You of all people know what that’s like.”
A tight knot forms in my stomach. “Are you saying I’m like him?” I haven’t told her how many bodies there are, but maybe I should. I lower my voice. “Mo, there’s more than you know to his… sprees.”
“Did you tell him about yours?” Is she actually standing up for him? “Don’t give me that look. You’re the one making a lot of assumptions.”
“Is everything okay here, babe?”
A voice breaks through our conversation.
Mo’s boy-of-the-week stands by her bedroom door, almost as wide as the frame. He’s built in a way that’s stalkier than Atlas. Wider. Like he fights. He wouldn’t be as quick as Atlas, though. He doesn’t look as smart either.
My heart sinks, and that knot twists when I realize who I’m comparing him to.
My monster.
“You know what?” Mo stands up, looking between us. “Why don’t we all blow off some steam? Dirty Diana’s, a few drinks, shoot some pool…”
Mo’s boy looks excited, a grin spreading across his face. “Can I call Lee?”
“Who’s Lee?” I ask.
Mo squeals. “Girl, you’ll love Lee. He looks like Michael B Jordan’s twin. Yes. Do it.”
I groan. “Not right now, Mo.”
“Oh, come on.” Mo takes my hand, dragging me to my feet. “I have the perfect outfit, and Travis has the perfect friend to make you forget about everyone in Eastmount. Including him.”
Dirty Diana’s hasn’t changed. Sticky floors, wobbly tables, and the smell of worn leather and beer in the air.
It’s the one place left in the city you can get a mediocre pint for a fiver, and it’s easy to see why.
Broken stained glass chandeliers hang above each table.
Torn-up old band posters line the walls.
The floor remains sticky, like it hasn't seen a mop in ages.
Students, old men and punks fill the space, a far cry from the posh patrons of Eastmount.
But even the good music blaring from a scratchy old speaker doesn't shift my vibe. Even after a couple of shots, even after two rounds of pints, I still can’t shake thoughts of him.
Mo thought that by dressing me in one of her little black dresses, I’d feel flirty. That's far from the case. Her clothes don’t fit the same. She stayed a size four, making this dress stick to me in ways that remind me of how much I’ve changed.
Drey would hate it.
Atlas, however, would devour me in it.
I push away the flutter in my stomach, pulling my mind away from him. If I think about him too much, I'll start crying again, and Dirty Diana's isn't the place to do that.
Thankfully, Lee hasn’t shown up. So while Mo and Travis keep inviting me into their conversation, I keep my eyes on my book and my mind out of this world.
“A bookish girl.” A drink lands next to mine, someone blocking the already dim light.
Looking up, a man with striking amber eyes and deep brown curls grins. He looks like he dropped off a gym advertisement. A tank too small for his muscles, a pretty face with no edge.
He hovers over me. “You must be Zee.”
Ah, so this is Lee.
Keeping my book in my hands, I size him up. Mo’s right. She has good taste, and Lee is no different. He tilts his chiselled chin towards the drink next to mine.
“Thirsty after all those pages?”
Lola crosses my mind, a shiver ripping through me. I push the drink away, along with the memory of that night.
“I’ll get my own.” Something jabs me under the table, and I don’t have to look at Mo to know it was the tip of her pointy shoe. “But thanks.”
“I get it,” he says, sliding into the empty seat next to me. “You don’t want someone else in your business. Book smart and street smart. Mo’s right. You are a catch.”
He takes a sip of the drink I refused.
I arch a brow, waiting.
Nothing happens, but I still don’t want him to think I’m signing some social contract by taking the drink he didn’t even ask if I wanted.
“So what’s the name of your book? What’s your type?” He leans over, without waiting for me to answer. He snorts. “Claiming His Captor?”
“What’s so funny?” I look over my page.
“I thought you might be reading Wilde, or Eyre, but you’re reading that.”
“And?”
“And it’s porn.” He taps a knuckle against the cover, my grip tightening on the pages. “Isn’t this dark shit the worst? My ex used to read them.”
“Your ex sounds like she wanted more.”
His brows lower. “What’s that supposed to mean? You stand by these fucked up fantasies?”
“Zee…” Mo warns, but I don’t care. He wants my attention? He’s got it.
I slam my book on the table, meeting his gaze. “It’s not about fucked up fantasies, it’s about sitting in the idea of someone being so loyal, so committed, they’d do the darkest, fucking, twisted thing. How committed are you, Lee?”
“You think I have a problem with commitment?” Lee laughs. “That’s a quick judgment, don’t you think, Zee?”