Chapter 20 Zane
ZANE
Paper is such an interesting tool. It’s soft, malleable, but it can wound too. Slices. Papercuts. It can stab into your palm with surprising force when you crumple it into a moment of frustration. Which really only adds fuel to the fire.
“Damn.” A razor’s trail of red shoots across the vulnerable palm flesh, directly opposite my knuckles. Just a moment of pain, little more than an irritation, but it seems so much more indicative of my current situation.
I’ve tried everything I can think of to modify the serum.
When I was testing the original experiments, I couldn’t be picky.
Everything was a mad dash against the clock and every gamble I took was made with my life as collateral.
It didn’t matter. I was dead anyway, so I might as well have some fun, right?
Every new formula came with its own risks and rewards, and every time I tried one, my body changed a little bit more.
It’s a miracle I found one that worked before I poisoned myself.
It was always only a matter of time. Nothing in the face of a steady diet of justice, vengeance, and grief so thick I was practically choking on it.
And from all of that, Charade was born.
My shoulders ache with a kind of tension that no amount of rubbing will ease. My limbs creak and pop with every painful, yet satisfying stretch. God, it feels good just to stand and not be looking at a computer.
And there’s the one question still to ponder that never seems to be far from my mind these days, or really any other.
Kaye.
Checkmate.
When I pulled her off that stage, I had no idea just how important she could be. I knew that having her could only help, if only to see the looks on the face of every crooked cop and politician in this town when they saw her standing with me. My ally. Mine at last.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. Even when I hated her, I couldn’t help but admire the way her supple curves filled out her suit. The graceful curve where her mask curved over her cheekbone. The plush pout of her lips…
I thought the distance forged through years of combat and opposition would be enough. Now I know it will never be enough. One taste of her was enough to brand her in my soul, for my cells to remake themselves to better suit her desires.
I would see her enemies laid bare, decimated and bleeding before us.
Only the pull of the serum could tempt me from my bed so early this morning.
Kaye was so soft and warm in my arms, so deliciously spent after our night together.
I watched her chest rise and fall in the breaking dawn, my fingers drawing lazy patterns across her soft skin.
We had only fallen asleep a few hours before, but already my body hungered for her.
What I would have given to wake her with slow, gentle kisses, then sink myself deep inside her.
But the siren call of the serum had been too hard to resist.
Shaking my head, I rise from my seat. Maybe a little bit of food and caffeine will get me back on track.
Outside the secret passage that marks the entrance to my lab, the house is alive with the beating of base.
It pulses through the floor, spreading up through my bones.
I follow that pulse, seeking the heart of that steady rhythm.
In the kitchen, George sits on a stool at the counter, laptop open and blasting some Spotify playlist. Her mouth opens wide to flash her pearlescent, picture-straight smile. I push inside and see why.
Kaye dances while she cooks, her hips cresting and dipping in time with the beat.
One hand rises above her crown, emphasizing her movements as she lip-syncs into the large, flat spatula in her right hand.
She’s not bad, either. Her fighter’s body is graceful.
Sensual. The smooth roundness of her curves hypnotic as the muscles bend and flex in time with the music, making my mouth water.
My palms itch to draw her hips to my own, to reclaim that softness against the hard panes of my body.
Her eyes are closed, rapturously lost in the song.
She looks good. Different. The tips of her hair brush the lines of her collarbones, which peek out at either side of a scoop-necked Florence and the Machine T-shirt I recognize as one of George’s.
Kaye’s fuller figure fills out the shirt well.
While George typically cinches in the fabric around her hips in a knot, it fits effortlessly on Kaye, swelling and dipping in all the right places.
A pair of blue jeans showcase her long, strong legs perfectly and her full, firm ass.
I turn around to adjust my suddenly irritating pants.
“Are you giving us the Irish goodbye?” George’s voice snaps me out of any hopes I had of a stealthy exit. Why, why, why does she have to be so observant?
“I think you have to say hello in the first place to give someone an Irish goodbye,” I joke, turning to find both women watching me.
George looks annoyed by the intrusion in the good-natured and loving way of all people raised almost as siblings.
Kaye, however, has a gleam of mischief lighting up her eyes as she appraises me and a knowing is hinted in the tilt of her head, the pink of her cheeks.
She bites her lip, a movement that seems to have a direct tether to my groin.
“And has anyone actually witnessed an Irish person use the Irish goodbye? Sounds like bullshit to me.”
“I don’t think that’s the point.” George focuses in on me with laser precision, the kind that says, I know you’re uncomfortable and it’s all I want in life to see you squirm. I glare at her.
“I’m making pancakes,” Kaye says. My eyes dart to her, rewarding me with the sight of a pleasing pink flush creeping high on her cheeks. “If you want to stay.”
As if on cue, George’s laptop snaps closed, music cutting off mid-lyric. “This is perfect! I’m running late for a study date. I’d feel guilty running out, but if you keep her company…”
“You’re not subtle,” I tell her. I let my attention linger on Kaye as she turns to pour a fresh round of batter into the sizzling frying pan, the red flush creeping up the back of her neck.
“Thank you for spending the morning with me, George,” Kaye interjects over her shoulder, her voice having gone a little flat. “I had a lot of fun.”
“We’ll do it again sometime. That’s a promise.”
Kaye nods and continues flipping pancakes, adding them to a steaming plated stack off to one side. As she gathers her things, George catches my gaze and holds it until the door closes behind her.
Kaye’s shoulders sag as soon as the door closes. I watch her as she flips the last pancakes on the plate. I think she’s forgotten all about me until she takes another plate from the shelf and eyes the half-burned stack.
“On second thought, maybe we shouldn’t eat these.” She laughs.
“They’re just a little burned.” I shrug. I take the fork from her hand, stabbing into the top three in the stack and dragging them to me. “It’s nothing some butter and maple syrup won’t cure.”
I take a bite, crunching through the outer, smoky layer, but the inside is light and airy.
“Hanging out with George this morning… it felt nice.” She’s quiet, but clear. Firm, though a tremor of something fragile runs through her voice. “I’ve always been the odd one. The one with the secret to hide. Being Checkmate hasn’t let me make many friends. I felt almost normal.”
Her words echo of an ache I thought was long buried.
When I was young, there were plenty of people around in my life. I was the child that every parent urged their children to play with. Our family was influential. Wealthy. I was a nice, normal-looking boy. And then a genius. And an orphan.
People love an attractive orphan. It’s the tragedy of it all. No one wants to lose loved ones like that, but they all love to be adjacent to it. To feel the kiss of death’s cold breath and walk away to the warm sanctity of their homes.
Until I became wise to that kind of manipulation. Or so I thought. C certainly managed to play me. He saw how hungry I was for true companionship. I let it blind me and I lost it all. Everything I was. The woman I loved.
Humanity isn’t meant to live in solitude. We need others to not only survive, but thrive.
“Kaye.” She turns to look at me, deep, guarded eyes flitting to mine.
Her cheeks are flush, hair glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window.
She’s beautiful in the way that paintings so often are.
But she’s real, flesh and blood. I don’t want her locked behind a glass covering.
“Spend the day with me. I think we’ve earned some fun. ”
“It’s not fair for me to take over your whole day.”
“Take over what? I wasn’t making much progress anyways, and if you really want to make it up to me, I could actually use your help in the lab tomorrow.”
“Are you asking me on a date, Zane?” she teases.
“We’ve covered fighting and making up, who cooks the best, fucking, and moving in. I’d say marriage is the next logical step in our relationship.”
The ghost of a smile touches her lips. I let the tip of my fingers trace her cheekbone and jawline.
Her skin is rosebud soft. I tell myself to stop, that as enjoyable as it would be a day spent in bed isn’t what Kaye needs right now.
The little self-control I have is reaches its limit as my gaze snags on her parted lips.
The hitched breath drawing her muscles taught.
Groaning, I press my forehead to hers. “If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll never leave.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She laughs. “I could go for another round with Dom Zane.”
Fuck. This woman is going to be the death of me.
“I’ll be more than happy to grant that request after our outing,” I purr. “Go get ready. I’ll do the dishes.”
She meets me in the foyer about an hour later and her smile is the only sun I need.
She looks adorable in her beanie that covers the majority of her new, short hair, and thick glasses that give a different dimension to her face.
The sexier version of Clark Kent, if Clark Kent had a killer figure and full, rosy lips.
Fulton, Adeon, and Jaspar are waiting for us as we pull up outside Ruby Red Cinemas. Everyone else had work or other obligations, but Kaye doesn’t even notice that the group is so small. Her eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning.
It doesn’t matter what movie we see. I don’t think I end up watching more than five minutes of it anyway.
I’m too busy watching her, rubbing shoulders with Fulton, who’s seated on her other side, throwing popcorn at whatever stupid thing Jaspar just said, Adeon scolding us all.
It’s a perfect moment in the middle of a storm.
And if my heart beats faster when I feel her fingers fold into mine and gently squeeze for a second or two, who could blame me? It’s rash and stupid, and I know I’ll end up regretting it, but I can’t stop it. We deserve to be normal, if only for a few hours.