16. New Locale
New Locale
Soriah
A s we march down the stairs, only a step behind each other, I can’t help but be aware of the ache between my legs. The cotton of my panties brushes my sensitive folds, and I withhold a whimper. I wish we’d had time for me to attempt seducing him into forgoing waiting.
But the looming threat will forever act as a magnet, drawing out negative emotions and dampening the mood of the room.
My feet touch the floor below the bottom step, and Zade rushes toward the door without a backward glance. I hang behind him, promising myself again that I’ll pay attention this time. But it’s hard.
My instincts scream at me, demanding I sit back and let the men work. If Zade didn’t coddle me, I’d probably have stronger defenses against that voice. Right now, I’m tempted to listen as I take in Zephyr’s and Zeke’s sweaty form, stumbling over the threshold and forcing Zade to jump back.
My lips press into a line, tongue biting back the words I yearn to say. I lock my limbs in place as well, refusing them the desire to run upstairs like I could hide from this. This maniac is after me . And he’s fucking with my plans to have Zade’s cock inside of me.
Zeke gulps down air, sweat dampening his skin. Zephyr looks slightly more composed, but concern pinches the corners of his mouth. A mouth eerily similar to Zade’s. I’ve kissed that mouth—Zade’s.
But my brothers are damn near identical that it could’ve easily been Zef’s mouth brushing along mine or—Nope. We’re not imagining Zef’s mouth between my legs, thereby tainting what Zade did to me a few moments ago.
What happened? Did you lead the cops here or something?
Zade’s hands move in jerky, quick movements before he turns to close and lock the door while Zeke and Zef gather themselves. I wait near the foot of the stairs, fighting the urge to fidget or shuffle in place.
“Things are about to get interesting, and I don’t think in a good way.
Ms. Ransom was supposed to meet a friend for brunch but obviously didn’t show.
Someone showed up at her place, so we rushed out of there before they spotted us,” Zef waves a hand at Zade’s pants, “You’re probably going to get that alert for a missing person. ”
Did you lock the back door after yourselves? If there’s no sign of forced entry, they won’t look too hard at her apartment where you two— he swings a finger from one to the other— left behind DNA evidence, like fingerprints and hair.
Zeke finally straightens from his position where he looked like he was recovering from a marathon. Didn’t he hit the gym several days a week?
“I don’t have any priors, so they shouldn’t match me to anything,” Zeke says, slashing his eyes toward Zephyr with a raised brow.
My brother’s blue eyes narrow; at the same time, they harden into chipped shards of ice. I take a wary step back. I don’t want to be in the middle of a fight between a lion and a jaguar.
Both are big cat predators with substantial size differences.
Zef’s lean and fluid. Graceful like a gazelle, even.
Zeke looks built with the muscle to overpower my brother, but Zef’s size lends speed to his movements.
Zeke’s size would slow him down, but there’s more power behind his punches if it comes to that.
Zade whistles, anger flushing his cheeks and emerald eyes flaring bright with leashed emotions.
The priority here is Riah’s safety. Tito won’t be here for another couple of hours, and with cops soon cruising in the area, I’m of the mind we should move locations.
Move locations? I open my mouth to object, but Zephyr beats me to it.
“And go where exactly? He’s stalking her. He probably knows the address of every one of our family members. Not that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to be in the home of a serial killer,” Zephyr says, head tilting like he’s considering the idea.
I frown, wondering who he’s referring to.
Zeke stabs a finger at Zephyr, his wide nostrils flaring.
“Not another fucking word, Zef. You’re toeing the damn line. No one talks shit about my parents,” he snaps and I gape at him. Zeke gives off feral energy like the Tasmanian devil, but at the same time, he’s usually the goofball in the room, making quips and laughing too loudly.
Zephyr must’ve struck a nerve, and I honestly can’t see my Aunt Nat harming anyone.
She’s a damn social worker. It was her idea to adopt Zeke after witnessing failed home after failed home.
My parents adopted me as an infant, and I can’t imagine what it was like for Zeke to bounce around so much until Natalia put in an application to foster and later adopt him.
He didn’t mean it that way , Zade signs, surprising me further by defending his twin. That’s it. The world is turning on its damn axis because those two getting along is too weird for us to not be in an alternate dimension.
I thought of asking your dad myself to maybe patrol or stake out the house for added security. He’ll want to protect Siri and agree with doing this ourselves without involving the police. So maybe it’s not a bad idea to crash at your parents until mine return.
He stops, frowning and rubbing at his chin.
I’ll have to pack up all of my electronics in case he breaks in again.
A shudder quakes through me. I don’t want to imagine what he’d do if he broke in again, having access to my room and things. It’s probably best if I don’t wonder.
But after this is over, I don’t see myself sleeping in that room again. It’s forever tarnished to me. It’s no longer my safe haven, the one place in the house that’s mine .
A hand brushes my cheek, and I jerk back, staring into eyes filled with understanding. Zade knows. He knows I can’t go in there and that I’ll never be able to set foot in it without feeling violated all over again.
What the hell am I supposed to tell my parents for visits after I move on campus? Sorry, but I’ll sleep in Zade’s room? I promise we’re not fucking?
My head thumps on his chest when I lean forward. He doesn’t pry, lifting a hand to caress my nape. I probably zoned out again and missed pertinent information being relayed. Shifting my body subtly, I peer around him, and yup, Zeke and Zephyr disappeared again.
Damn it.
Zade
A frustrated grunt leaves my mouth at the less-than-ideal set-up. My three monitors barely fit on the borrowed desk in one of the guest bedrooms of Uncle Zac and Aunt Natalia’s house.
My hands brush through my hair, itching to tear at the strands. It took more time than I’d thought to load up necessities like a week’s worth of clothes, my sketchbooks and drawing utensils, and every electronic item I deemed essential.
A pair of knuckles rap on wood behind me, and I whirl around to see Uncle Zac lounging against the door frame, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. He flashes a dimpled smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, prowling into the guest bedroom, eyes roaming like it’s his first time in here.
A twin bed is pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room, and plush carpet lines the floor. Heather gray nightstand, dresser, and desk are the only other pieces of furniture.
“Settling in okay, Nephew?” he asks, landing his gaze on me.
Yes. Thank you for letting us crash here.
He frowns at my hands, and for a second, I consider resigning my message, but he lets out a humorless laugh.
“Of course. You’re family.” He sighs, eyes looking through me. “Having you all here fills this old house with life and laughter. Things sorely missed during my childhood. I hope my adoptive mother is rolling in her grave at witnessing my family being happy in a home she wanted me to suffer in.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, and I suspect he’s not looking for one. Uncle Zac doesn’t strike me as someone who does things unintentionally. Him strolling in here, emphasizing family and referencing his childhood, is intentional; a part of some plan he hasn’t revealed yet. So, I wait.
I don’t have to wait long. The wistful expression sloughs off his face, and emotion flees his eyes. Now, I’m looking into the eyes of a killer.
“You want to tell me what’s this all about? And I don’t advise lying. I’ll have a separate conversation with my son later. This is your chance to come clean.”
I take in a deep breath before launching into an abridged version of the events that led up to this moment. It’s better to have him on our side than working against us. I do not want him calling my parents, placing them in danger should they return home early.
Riah has a stalker. He broke in and kidnapped a woman on our street. I figured the safest place for us and her is here. Was I wrong?
Maybe I shouldn’t provoke a man capable of de-skinning someone while whistling or listening to Bach, but as he said, I’m family. My dad will kill him if he harms me.
A blond brow rises above its twin. “And you didn’t want to call the cops?” he asks, but the glint in his eyes says he knows why.
If you were me, and it was Aunt Natalia or Zeke, would you involve them?
He laughs, a genuine smile this time slithering across his face.
“Hell, no. I’d hunt the fucker down like the animal he is and make his death painful and slow.
But you’re not me. So, I’m going to get my cousin Deaton in on this, too, as two killers are better than one, and you’re going to keep me informed.
Got it?” He snaps his fingers. “Oh! And I won’t tell your parents, but as soon as they’re back in town, you better tell them.
” The or else went unsaid. And I don’t think it involved telling them for me.
I nod my assent but raise my hand before he can march out of the door, his torso already turning away from me in dismissal.
Does it bother you? That you and my dad are nothing alike? Both in appearance and everything else.
Both of his brows rise, clearly not expecting the question, and then he tilts his head like he’s giving it a lot of thought.
“No, it doesn’t bother me. We had two very different upbringings, and I have Deaton and Rhys. They’re like brothers to me, and we share quite a lot of things,” he says finally, after letting the silence between us stretch for several moments.
I wisely don’t ask about those shared things. I can hazard a guess. But he isn’t finished, waving a hand to gesture at me and then tapping at his throat, causing my shoulders to stiffen.
“I’m not you. I don’t have a physical ‘disability,’” he says, using his hands for air quotes. “But if I did and my twin didn’t, I think I’d resent him a little. You and your brother are more alike than you think.”
A deprecating smirk and a knowing glimmer in aqua eyes dispel any illusion that he’s unaware of my brother’s nature. Birds of a feather and all that.
But it begs the question, is that why I don’t like Zephyr? Because he can talk and I can’t? Or at least, I haven’t tried talking since I was a child, even though speech pathologists said it was possible for me to learn after my operations.
Siri’s wide-eyed gaze when I sounded out the first letter in her name flashes in my mind. Did I want to learn how just to show her I’m less defective?
“Looks like you’re taking a shit thinking that hard. If you need me, I’m going to check in on my flower, she’s preparing dinner with your sister. Holler if you need us,” he says, walking away and talking over his shoulder.
My gaze returns to the dark monitors. Maybe, in between looking over video footage, I can practice a couple of sounds. A smile tugs at my lips, imagining Siri’s surprise if I can manage to say her name.
My under-used throat will definitely struggle, but as I’m learning, there isn’t any amount of suffering I’m unwilling to go through for her.