29. Clara
Chapter 29
Clara
M aybe Deniz was onto something with this surveillance thing.
I sit at Chase’s brand new dining table, watching Deniz, Charlie, and Taf on my phone. Apparently, Lev has been trying to end his life via dehydration and starvation, which will not do. Taf has been roped into connecting our captive to a fluid and nutrition IV. I’m not sure how Rariny would feel about one of their physicians working for The Syndicate, but that’s Doctor Rakoto’s problem, not mine.
Apparently, Charlie, Gwen, and Deniz are holding Lev in an underground storage area at Chase’s golf course. I was worried about tourists and employees stumbling across something they shouldn’t, seeing as it’s still the busy season for desert golfing, but Chase has assured us that this particular storage area is rumored to be haunted and holds holiday decorations. No one will wander down there, and if they do, Charlie has Zane and Lee rotating standing guard.
I flip the phone face down as footsteps come down the stairs. Chase is at the resort handling some sort of VIP guest, so the only person it could be is Bashir .
He halts at the foot of the stairs when he sees me alone at the table. We haven’t spoken, at least not at length, since the night I found out about Kerem’s death. He takes a deep breath, but walks straight past me, headed to the kitchen.
Probably for the best.
I glance at the screen again, watching as Lev says something to Deniz that raises his hackles. His muscles tighten at Lev’s silent words. Charlie puts his hand on Deniz’s shoulder and whispers something in his ear, which seems to get him to relax.
We spent almost the entire day yesterday sleeping—him making up for lost rest the past few days, and me desperately trying to speed the healing of my leg. Deniz and Taf have both insisted that any sort of information extraction needs to wait until my stitches are removed. Seven more days.
The longer we keep Lev tied up down there, the more time he has to solidify his resolve, or to find a way to end his own life to avoid withstanding the torture he must know is coming. It also gives Konstantin too much time to change his operations, negating anything we might learn from our informant.
So I’m doing what is most difficult for me—nothing. Deniz helped me downstairs before he left to meet Charlie and Gwen, and I’ve been doing my best to rest, bothering my stitches as little as possible. Even if that means letting Deniz give me a fucking sponge bath when all I want is a shower.
Bashir walks back into the dining area, carrying two cups of coffee. He slides one in front of me as he sits, letting it knock into my cold, empty mug.
“You look like you could use it.”
Not exactly the kindest olive branch I’ve ever been extended, but I’ll take it. I sip the black coffee, craving sugar and cream but unwilling to snub Bashir.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my hands itching to look at the camera feed again. Man, I get why Deniz does this. The control is addicting.
“I’m assuming a lot more shit is about to go down,” he says with a sense of finality. I feel a little bad for Bashir. Out of all Deniz’s friends, he was the one most sheltered from this world, and Deniz and I basically forced this on him. He’ll never be able to escape the careful watch of The Syndicate from now on, having witnessed all he has over the past few days.
“Unfortunately,” I admit, rolling my hip and testing the pain level. It still hurts like fuck, but the stitches pull a little less, which is a positive sign.
“I’m sorry for taking out my frustration on you the other night,” he offers, and I wonder how sorry he actually is.
“You weren’t completely wrong, so I forgive you.” Deniz and I haven’t told his friends about his stalking, or how my mother nearly died in the attack that took Kerem’s life. But they know I’m helping him find his brother’s killer, and that’s enough to prove our relationship is complicated.
“I understand that you and Deniz care for each other, so know that I don’t come to you with this lightly,” he says, steadying himself. “But I think you should leave.”
I almost laugh out loud. Leave what? This house? Deniz’s life? I know Bashir is unaware that Deniz found me first, but the concept of escaping my fiancé’s surveillance is almost funny.
“If you think I’m leaving him, you’ve misunderstood our relationship,” I say, a smile tilting the corners of my mouth.
“Deniz deserves a kinder life,” Bashir says, his eyes hardening into a judgemental stare. My muscles tighten, but I remind myself that he cares for his friend and wants what’s best for him.
“Deniz deserves whatever he’s decided to pursue,” I argue.
“We want things that are wrong for us all the time, things that hurt us,” he bites back, shaking his head.
I can’t argue. I’ve talked myself out of it every time, but ever since my mother’s attack, I’ve itched to put myself in dangerous situations. It’s like my body thinks it can absolve me of my guilt over not protecting her by putting my life at risk to avenge her. Emily’s had to talk me down from walking into Vladivostok and demanding a fucking duel with Konstantin multiple times.
“Do you love him?”
Bashir’s question takes me by surprise. I stare at him, brow furrowed as I work through the possibility in my mind.
I love my family. I love Gwen. I might even grow to love Ana, given the opportunity to get to know her. But I’ve never loved anyone romantically.
I know I feel strongly for Deniz, but not all the associated emotions are positive. I am frustrated by him, fear him, respect him, desire him. Sometimes I hate him. But love seems harder to identify, like it’s hidden and tangled in all the other feelings I have for Deniz.
“The way he looked at you when Taf was trying to save your life,” Bashir sighs, exasperated by my lack of response. “I’ve never seen anyone love someone like that. He’ll let you drag him into your world, and from what I can tell, that world is cruel and merciless. Deniz loves to the point of obsession, so afraid he’s going to lose us that he’ll kill himself to prevent it. So you better be sure you love him, too. And that you’ll protect him as much as he’ll protect you.”
Bashir takes his coffee with him as he leaves, and I sit in silence, finger tracing the lip of my mug. I imagine how I would feel if the roles were reversed, and I had to watch Deniz’s body get cut open and stitched up on a fucking dining room table. Would I be able to stand watching his life hang in the balance?
I turn the phone back over in time to see him wink into the camera he placed in the corner of the room. For me. And I wonder if love is just the knowledge that I’ll never be able to look away.