Chapter 22 Sloane
Sloane
“Dr. Romera? Sloane? Hey, Sloane.”
I shake my head, kicking my brain back into gear. Mikey the intern stands in front of me, wringing his hands. The terror all interns experience is a powerful thing, and it still has Mikey firmly in its grip. He blinks at me, and I realize he’s asked me something.
“What’s up, Mikey? Have you killed one of my patients?” I probably shouldn’t joke about that. It is a possibility, after all. Mikey is a weird green color, too, which doesn’t exactly assuage the sudden suspicion.
“I—There’s a guy at the front desk to see you. He’s been waiting thirty minutes. The nurses said they wouldn’t page you if it wasn’t an emergency, and he wasn’t family. And then Gracie said she wouldn’t page you because she thinks he lied to her when he said he was your brother.”
I snort when I imagine Zeth trying to pass himself off as my brother. “How did she know he was lying?”
Mikey dithers, turning back down the corridor. He wants out of here real bad. “Mostly because he’s Black and you aren’t.”
Black? I put my coffee cup down beside me, my attention suddenly one hundred percent fixed on Mikey. He fidgets, putting me on edge.
“The guy said she should do better and rethink her statement. He said he absolutely could be your brother. And then he told me that if I didn’t come back with you in ten minutes, he was going to torch my Jetta.
Sloane, d’ya think… is there any way you could…
?” He winces, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.
This guy might not be Zeth, but if he’s threatening to firebomb someone’s car, he undoubtedly has something to do with him.
I groan and get to my feet. This is going to be awful.
Mikey jogs back to reception, pausing to look over his shoulder in case I might not really be coming.
When we arrive, Grace glares at Mikey with deep disapproval.
He’s gone against her. Should have just kissed goodbye to his car, in all honesty.
Grace is lord and overseer of this world. He’s in for a world of hurt now.
On a red fold-down chair in the waiting area, Michael, the doorman from last night, waits patiently, hands folded in his lap.
When he sees me, his icy blue eyes come alive. He stands and approaches, dressed in a beautiful gray suit—no way it isn’t designer—that complements his light brown skin tone perfectly. “Dr. Romera.” He inclines his head politely. “Mr. Mayfair told me I would find you here.”
“Mr. Mayfair?”
Michael’s eyes flicker—curiosity flaring and then disappearing in quick succession.
“Zeth. He asked me to come and give you this.” He takes a black envelope from his breast pocket, sealed, and addressed with a sweeping S written in gold.
I take it from Michael, scowling. Most people would have just sent a text message, but no.
Not Zeth Mayfair (surely too ordinary a surname for him?).
Michael gives me a friendly smile. How the hell he can set me at ease is a miracle.
He’s the type of man other men run from, fast, in the other direction, while begging for their lives.
“Do you know what’s in here, Michael?” I wave the envelope from side to side. Something heavy and hard slides from the motion, and I can already feel what it is. That arrogant, manipulative…
“I do,” he informs me.
“Do I want to know?”
“Mr. Mayfair insisted I wait here until you’ve followed the instructions inside his letter.
” His eyes shine with mirth when he tells me this, like he’s enjoying the fury that spreads across my face.
I rip open the expensive ridged black paper and tug out the note inside, which is just as thick and luxurious.
There aren’t many words scrawled on the paper, but they’re powerful enough.
Sloane,
Put this with the rest of your keys.
Give Michael the one to your apartment. He’ll bring it back within the hour.
Z
Forget being pissed off. Now, I’m livid. Now, I’m seeing red. He thinks he can just demand the key to my house? He thinks I’ll just hand access to my home over to one of the most intimidating men I’ve ever met? I look up at Michael, shaking my head. “Whoa. Pump the brakes. Absolutely not.”
He grins, flashing perfect teeth, already laughing under his breath.
“Why the hell does he think this is gonna fly with me?”
“Because we heard from one of our contacts this morning, and Zee thinks you might be grateful for the information that contact shared with us. Something about a woman you might be looking for?”
I close my fist around the key still inside the envelope. Is he for real? “Not five hours ago, he told me he wasn’t going to help me.”
“He says a lot of things. Trick is to figure out when he’s telling the truth is all. He’s been looking for a while now. Not since the hotel, but—”
Oh my God, I think I’m going to throw up. “You know about that?”
“Mr. Mayfair told me only what he deemed most important. I needed to know who I was keeping an eye on for him. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention that I told you that, though. I’ll be in six pieces and at the bottom of the docks before I can blink if you do.”
This is all suddenly very overwhelming. I take a seat on one of the waiting room chairs, covering my face with my hands. My heart pumps with a vengeance. Finally. Finally. Finally. Finally…
Finally.
There’s news about Alexis.
Michael sits beside me, letting me digest. I tilt my head sideways, closing my eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Call him,” I whisper. “I need to speak to him.”
He flashes those perfect teeth at me again. “You can call him yourself, y’know. He stored his number in your phone before he returned it to you.”
I pull my cell out of my scrubs pocket and immediately check to see if this is true. S, T, U, V, W, X, Y… my finger stills over the touch screen.
Z.
There it is. A single letter, followed by ten digits.
My heart. God, my heart doesn’t know what to make of that. I hit the call button, eyeing Michael warily. The sound of the dial tone makes my palms break out into a sweat. It rings once, twice…
A pause…
“Did you do it?”
That voice is even deeper from the other end of a phone. Unwillingly, need begins to build between my thighs. Damn him. “Do what?” I whisper.
“Don’t play with me, Sloane.”
I’m pushing my luck with him already, and we’ve barely said two words to each other. “Fine,” I say. “No. I haven’t. I can’t really say that I want or need the key to your kinky sex den.”
“It isn’t the key to my kinky sex den.” The sound of the laughter in his voice stuns me; it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever heard. “It’s the key to my home. And if you have mine, then it’s only right that I have a key to yours.”
“And what if I don’t want that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what that reality looks like.”
Yeah. I’ll bet he doesn’t. I bet he never even considered I would reject this demand of his.
“Ask yourself the question, though, Sloane. Do you want to walk away? Do you want me out of your life? Forget Alexis, and Eli, and the way we met. Think about what happened last night instead. You knew who I was, then. Exactly who I was. You knew what I liked. And you chose to be with me like that.”
He waits silently, his breathing slow and measured, sending chills down my spine as I do what he told me to.
I consider it. This path can only lead to trouble.
A dangerous guy like Zeth, mixed up in God knows what and with whom.
He was shot three weeks ago, for fuck’s sake.
That’s not something from his past. That is very much current.
“Plus the kid who was seeing to Lacey’s injuries has disappeared,” he says softly. “She needs her dressings changed. You don’t want me doing that, do you? I have very dirty hands.”
“Yes, I know all about your dirty hands,” I shoot back, blushing slightly when I remember Michael sitting beside me. “What’ll happen if I say no?”
“Then we would have problems. You gave yourself to me. You’re mine. That’s not something you can undo.”
Is he joking? I can’t tell. His tone gives nothing away. “I’m sure lots of girls have given themselves to you. You can go back to fucking them.”
“From here on out, I’m not fucking anyone but you, sweetheart.”
“Until you get bored, you mean?”
“Until I get shot and it sticks. Until you pack up all your shit and run from me. But let me just say this, Sloane. Don’t bother running. I’ll only have to come find you. Stay here. Be with me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Why, just when it might sound like he’s trying to be sweet, does he then follow it up with a threat? And why is the danger of that so thrilling? I feel like I might need a few sessions with Pippa myself. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I blow out a deep breath and then extract the key from the envelope.
It’s small. Brass. The kind of key made for a padlock.
I close my fingers around it, and the sharp ridges bite into my palm.
I am a stupid, stupid woman. “Okay, Zeth. Fine. I’ve claimed ownership of your stupid fucking key.
” And you have claimed ownership of me. I still have no idea why he wants me so badly, but I don’t doubt him.
Zeth doesn’t waste his time. I know that much about him already.
If he weren’t interested, he wouldn’t be going to these lengths.
I’d be a long-forgotten conquest by now.
“And you’re giving yours to Michael?”
“Yes. I’ll give it to him, I swear.”
A wicked growl travels down the line and straight into my ear.
My eyelids flutter closed. I don’t know what I’ve done.
I don’t know what I’ve agreed to, but I am so, so relieved.
I’ve seen terminal patients go through this before.
They fight and fight for so long, valiantly refusing to give up, and then, when they’re told it’s no use and there’s nothing more to be done…
that’s when they find their peace. That is the sea of surrender I float in now.
It’s deep, and it’ll be only so long before I forget all about floating and let myself sink. Sink forever.
“Sloane?”
“Yeah?”
“I just thought you should know…”
And then he says the two words I never thought I’d hear. Two words that shatter my heart to pieces.
“She’s alive.”