Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Zee
My heart pounds as Cherry’s voice gets closer.
“You don’t treat me like I’m still yours.”
Step by step, her words get louder.
“So you commit treason with them?”
My hand flies to my mouth when I see them.
It’s true. He’s here.
They’re in the laundry room. Cherry's backed up against the dryer, the machines whirring around them.
“They have my back," she says. "You don’t.”
Emery steps closer, his clothes dishevelled, his hair shaggy. It's the worst I've seen him. “How dare you?”
“Look at you," Cherry scoffs. "You can’t even stand to be powerless, even with me right in front of you. You’re different. Why do you think they all left?”
“I'm protective, Cherise. It’s for your own good.”
“Was Olivia Martin for my own good? How about Alaina Velasques? Father Barry? Don’t die a villain, Emery.”
My stomach twists, my hands bracing the wall.
He did this.
He killed Liv.
He killed Alaina.
He killed my father.
He broke my family.
“This is what we live for,” he says. “It’s what people strive for. She’s not even pure. She doesn’t belong with us.”
“You’re so far gone you don’t remember you’re not pure either.”
Emery growls, loud, pressing Cherry against the dryer.
“You’ve lost control,” Cherry says. “You'll lose me next."
He knees her in the gut.
She gasps, leaning over as she clutches her stomach.
“I saved you. I built you from the ground, and this is how you thank me?” His hand wraps around her throat, his knuckles whitening as he squeezes. She tries but fails to push him away. His hand collides with her face, a slap echoing in the air.
One that reminds me of that leather strap.
The world tilts.
My ears ring, and everything slows.
The machines hum, the smell of clean detergent in the air.
My hand wraps around a wooden broomstick.
Emery glances back.
Our eyes lock.
And I swing.
The broomstick cracks against his skull.
He stumbles, chuckling as he reaches for me.
His hand wraps around my baggy shirt, the collar tightening around my throat.
Cherry lunges for a laundry cart piled with sheets and towels. She shoves it into him, slamming him against the machine.
Gripping the broomstick, I swing it again.
And again.
And again.
The names Cherry listed fuel each crack over his head.
Liv. Alaina. My father.
Blood fills his face as he laughs, but I don't stop.
“Zee!” Cherry's voice is warbled. Distant.
The stick breaks in my grip, one edge clattering to the floor.
My eyes shift to the sharp edge.
"Zee!"
A smirk forms on my face, Emery’s laughter filling the room.
Heat spreads through me as I jab the sharp edge into Emery’s throat.
His laughter turns into a gurgle, his eyes widening. When he stops moving, his smirk remains.
A pained cry leaves Cherry as she falls next to him, her hand to her chest. A prickle of heat hits my neck, the world rushing back to me.
Turning around, Atlas stands in the doorway.
I wait for it. That horrified look. That judgemental gaze.
He steps into the room, his eyes shifting to me. “I’ll clean this up."
Sugar Skull
An angel.
My angel.
Zee Zafar makes it easy to love her. Nothing can stop that, and now, not even Emery.
After giving some of the staff a hell of a bribe, they let me take control of the laundry room, no questions.
It’s been a while since I had cleanup duty. It took a couple of hours but I got the job done. In the end, there was no sign of Emery getting what he deserved on the laundry room floor. I wheeled his body out in a laundry cart and by early morning, he was ash.
Cherry is locker in her room when I get back to the hotel.
I don’t envy her.
It might take weeks, months, or years, but I hope one day she realizes she’s better off without him.
When I finally find Zee, she’s in the bathroom, still covered in blood. She sits in the large Italian shower, naked, her back against the stone.
How long has she sat here?
Blood smears her face and arms, her hair a tangled mess. Still, every time I see her, it’s like the first. My heartbeat picks up, my muscles tense, and everything else fades away.
Without a word, I walk into the shower and lift her in my arms. She clings to me as I turn the silver knob, warm water pouring over us from the large showerhead.
“You’re not a monster, Zee,” I say, letting the water wash over her hair and back. “You’re still my angel."
She looks up at me, her eyes glazed. I want to bring her back to this world. To me. She’s lost in her anxiety, her shame. Her eyes say it all.
"Only you see me like this," she whispers. "But what about everyone else?”
“They’ll see you’re strong.” I plant her feet on the tile, cupping her face. I lock eyes with her molten browns that threaten to melt me away. “They’ll see how powerful you are. Do you see that, too, Zee?”
Water streams over us, and when I dip my head, bringing my lips to hers, my body fills with heat. She melts into me, letting me hold her shakiness in my arms.
She sighs against my lips, my wet clothes sticking to my body. “Where do we go from here?”
“I don’t know, but wherever it is, you’ll find me there too.” I bring my lips to her ear. “You’re my home, Zee.”
She falls deeper into me when I kiss her neck, her soapy body against mine. She’s warming up, but she’s still anxious. I can feel her muscles still stiff against me.
So I guide her, just like I did when we met.
“The bodywash,” I instruct, pointing a finger to the dispenser hanging off the stone wall."Take it."
She raises a shaky hand before I steady it, helping as she pumps some of the white gel inside her palm. A citrus scent fills the air as she slathers it over her skin, across her chest and down her waist.
The way her body shines when she’s all soaped up looks ethereal.
Whatever she is, she’s mine.
Peeling my wet shirt over my head, I slap it to the shower tile and wrap my arms around her slick body. "Good girl."
Her back falls against my chest, her head following. With a finger, I tip her chin higher and bring those lips back to me.
The world falls away when I feel her lips, her warmth, her trust.
She speaks against my lips. “Show me what home feels like, Sir.”
I push my joggers to the floor and press her against the wall. Everything shifts when I'm inside her again. Each kiss, each touch, each sigh, every pulse of her body speaks louder than her words.
“Fuck, Zee,” I groan. “You’re fucking made for me, do you feel that?”
When she cries out, I hear more than desire. Relief. Release.
“Do I feel like home?” she rasps, her hips moving with mine.
“You feel like mine.”
Every time I plunge inside her makes my toes curl against the tile. My hand lands under her ass, pulling her in further. I savour each thrust. I savour the depth. Her pulses. The sound of my wet skin on her. The sound of her moans in my ear.
My cock throbs when she clamps harder around me.
She’s almost there.
“Am I taking you home, Zee?”
“Fuck yes,” she sighs, her head falling back as the water runs down her face to her chin.
I lick it all up as I pound into her harder, her wetness coating me.
“I want to feel you forever,” she sighs, her body trembling in my hold. “Oh fuck. Oh god!”
Her cries bring me to the edge and I let go. I won’t ever get over filling her. I’m consumed by this madness we’ve created. I’m an addict. I’ll never get enough.
The water runs cold by the time her body slumps against mine.
And it’s not until she’s dried off and back in our bedroom that she looks at me with those honey-glazed eyes, and her smile returns.
That's all I need.
Forever.