Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Zac
Idon’t want to fucking go,” I snap, shoving my hands deeper into my jean pockets.
“It might be fun,” Claudia offers, her tone light. She’s trying too hard, just as she has been all afternoon.
“Most of them are only nineteen years old.”
“That’s not true,” she insists. “Everyone they trust to not tell the State was invited. That includes us, and many others who have lived on this street for at least a year.”
My teeth clench together.
“How old is Emilia?” Jordan asks.
“Who?”
“Your wife.” Well, fuck. I didn’t even know her name.
“Stop calling her that,” I snap. “I don’t know.”
“You really should give her a chance,” Claudia says, a smile on her lips.
As we near the party, movement from the far side catches my eye.
A woman emerges from the narrow alley, wavy, waist-length blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she glances back.
The black dress she’s wearing clings to her frame, hitting mid-thigh before long, toned legs extend from beneath. My brow arches before I can stop it.
She’s… pretty fucking tempting.
She stumbles onto the street in clunky heels, steadying herself with a hand against the brick. I haven’t seen impractical footwear like that since before the war. It’s almost… nostalgic. The blonde turns, streetlight hitting her square in the face.
I almost lose my damn footing.
The sight knocks the breath out of me. The dress hugs her body as though it was made for her, every curve accentuated, impossible to ignore.
It’s not how I pictured her looking beneath the oversized denim jacket she was wearing when she first burst into our house, or the baggy red pyjamas she changed into that night, or the loose grey joggers she’s worn the past few evenings.
But then again, maybe I just haven’t been looking before now. With that dress framing every inch of her, there’s no escaping it.
“Is that Emilia?” Jordan asks, just as my wife disappears through the front door.
“I think so,” I reply, forcing a shrug. “I really think we should go back. I was planning on—”
“No,” Claudia interrupts. “Now we definitely have to go!” She hooks one arm through Jordan’s, before looping the other through mine, as though she knows I’m contemplating running. Roughly, she tugs us towards the house.
My jaw grinds so hard my teeth ache and my hands ball into fists at my sides. “And you really think this gathering won’t be found by the fucking Enforcers?” I ask, voice tight.
“It hasn’t been the other eight times we’ve been to them,” Claudia says lightly.
I don’t do this shit. I don’t socialise. I don’t pretend this is where I want to be. I’ve got better things to do than waste time with people who think throwing a party is disturbing the State’s rule.
And stepping inside doesn’t change that in the fucking slightest. The place is a mess of sweat and cheap State-permitted perfume, a bunch of immature idiots pawing at each other against the walls, a gaggle of lads pissing themselves laughing in the kitchen, giggling girls lining the edge of the room with drinks in hand. A few nudge each other as we enter.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” A loud yell cuts through the room.
I crane my head towards the two girls in the centre of the room. I’m almost certain one is Emilia, her back facing me, shoulders tense.
For fuck’s sake.
Claudia’s arm slips from mine as my jaw clicks. This is exactly the kind of playground crap I have no patience for.
The brunette girl steps forward, spitting her words out. “Rayden disappears, you with him, and then you stroll back in from opposite doors like nothing happened?”
Multiple heads swivel towards them. Emilia freezes.
My jaw’s going to break.
Somewhere, the music is turned off.
The girl leans in. “What, were you hoping no one would notice you fucking someone else’s husband? I should report you!”
There’s an empty silence—two seconds where no one breathes—before Emilia snaps. She rips her arm free and closes the distance between them.
“Fucking try it,” she says, her voice hard, dry. “I’d like to see how that goes, given that you’re so wrong it’s laughable.”
“Briony saw you!”
“Briony saw wrong.” Emilia scoffs, crossing her arms. She tilts her head and looks at a scrawny looking girl standing a few feet to the left. “Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Briony? Does the State know that you’re out here in the Married Sector?”
“I—”
“Hold up, what?” A short, dark-haired man emerges from the crowd, his brows pinched.
“Yeah, Rufus,” Emilia exclaims, gesturing towards the scrawny girl. “She’s not from here. Not one of your trustworthy invites—”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the first girl screams, lunging for Emilia. A boy reaches out, pulling the hysterical girl back against his chest. “Let go of me, Rayden!”
“Nina, we weren’t—”
“Liar!”
“I didn’t fuck him,” Emilia says, an almost mocking smile on her lips.
Fuck, this girl likes to play with fire.
“Yes, you did,” Briony snaps. “I saw you kissing—”
“This has been fun,” Emilia interrupts. “I’m gonna leave.” She pauses. “Ray, you really ought to keep your wife on a tighter leash before she gets herself killed.”
“Is that a threat?” Nina hisses.
“If the shoe fucking fits,” Emilia replies, tone full of venom. “Spreading lies like that will attract more than one goddamn Enforcer.”
Nina sneers. “You’re right. It will. And seeing as it’s the truth, I’m sure the Enforcers will have the time of their lives, tearing your head from your shoulders.”
“Bitch—”
“Nina, we didn’t—”
Nina whirls around, interrupting the boy on her heels. “You two have been fucking each other for years,” she snaps, pulling out of his arms. “You went outside with her. I’m not stupid!”
My teeth grind, cracking. This is bad. It’s worse than bad. It’s reckless and stupid and the kind of rumour that gets people dragged from their beds in the middle of the night.
Fucking outrageous.
It’s been five days, and this marriage is already going to get me—and her—killed. She’s the absolute epitome of everything I didn’t want.
Drama, chaos, immaturity—she’s the biggest liability I’ve come across since the fucking war.
This needs to end. And then I need to lock Emilia inside Number 8 and not let her leave. Because clearly, she’ll get us killed if she carries on like this.
I shove my hands into my pockets to stop them from shaking and harden my voice so that it cuts through the hum.
“She wasn’t fucking him,” I say loudly. It’s not an explanation, but my tone is laced with enough depth and malice that everyone shuts the hell up. Heads turn. Eyes widen. People whisper.
Emilia turns slower than the rest, like she’s bracing herself, and when her eyes land on me I swear she pales slightly. For the first time, she looks small.
Nina’s face flushes. “Who are you?”
I stalk forward, eyes pinned on the busty blonde in the ridiculous, enticing mini dress. I’m going to burn the damn thing and stop her ever wearing it again. Getting us into messes like this.
“Her husband,” I snap.
Reaching out, my hand finds Emilia’s wrist before I can think twice. I yank her away from the bitchy girls. Sensibly, she doesn’t fight me, although I wonder whether that’s because she’s in shock. Her eyes are wide, lips parted as she looks up at me.
It’s ridiculous. Utterly fucking ridiculous.
I give her a sharp tug, and she stumbles towards the front door.
The crowd parts to let us through. Claudia looks sheepish, no doubt because she knows exactly how close I am to exploding, and Jordan hovers behind her, his chin on the top of her head, donning an amused expression that makes anger flare in my gut.
I could slam a fist into his face right now and feel utterly brilliant about it.
I tear my eyes away.
“Tell her to stay away from my man!” Nina snaps behind us.
Is this girl twelve years old? Fucking hell.
Emilia stops, her eyes flaring as she spins to face the room again. I let go of her hand for a second to glare over my shoulder at the girl who started this. She’s small but loud, clutching at her husband’s arm like a shield. He stands there, looking annoyingly wistful at the girl beside me.
Idiot. He’s the twat who caused this shit.
“I don’t need to,” I snap.
“Briony saw them kissing—”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” I cut over her, voice low and dangerous. “She was kissing me. She was fucking me. Is that what you want to hear?” The words drawl out of me rougher than sandpaper.
I want them to feel the fury, the ridiculousness of their secondary school level drama.
“Zac!” Emilia exclaims, eyes wide with what I can only assume is disbelief. Not a flicker of thanks, though. Not a hint of apology for dragging us into danger.
“We’re leaving,” I growl.
My fingers clamp around her forearm, and I pivot, marching for the door. I don’t spare Jordan or Claudia another glance before I step into the night. I knew this would be a headache. Five days and already I’m sick to death of my immature partner.
Once we’re on the street, I let go of Emilia’s arm and shove her forward a fraction to give me space. My boots hit the tarmac hard as I stride down the street. With each step, the cold, sharp air brings clarity that heightens my annoyance, piercing harder, and harder until only utter fury reigns.
“Zac?” It’s Claudia’s voice that calls after me.
As much as I want to, I can’t ignore her, coming to a stop midway down the street. Slowly, I turn.
Claudia and Jordan are only a few feet behind the blonde liability whose eyes dart between my friends and I.
“You…” Claudia trails off, before glancing between me and her and saying, “You two should talk.” I just scoff. “I’m serious, Zac. You need—”
“Fuck no,” I snap. “She’s a fucking liability!”
“I’m standing right here.” Emilia’s blue eyes narrow, arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m aware,” I retort. “Fucking. Liability.”
“You’re one to talk,” she says, voice raised.
Jordan whistles beneath his breath. Seriously. Seconds away from a right hook.
I take a calm, steady step towards her. “Excuse me?”
“A liability?” She glares. “You’re the one who didn’t come home yesterday.” She can’t be serious.
“One night,” I snap. “It was one night.”
“We’ll talk to you later, Zac,” Jordan pipes up, wrapping his forearm around Claudia’s chest and gently tugging her backwards.
They don’t wait for a response, the two whispering as they turn, leaving us alone in the middle of the street.
I take another step towards her. “Are you that needy? You barely know me!”
“Shut up,” she snaps. “It’s not about me. The State could have done an inspection.”
I shrug, scoffing. “I had it on good authority that they weren’t planning one.”
“From who?”
“Never you mind.”
“You’re full of bullshit,” she snaps. “From the very first day, you haven’t taken this seriously! If anyone’s a liability, it’s you.”
“You just got caught fucking some boy,” I growl.
“I didn’t fuck him.”
“I don’t believe you,” I counter, my gaze fixed on hers.
“Believe what you want.” Her eyes rake over me. “Where were you last night?”
“Mind your damn business.”
A smirk plays on her lips. “Your business is my business. We’re married.”
“Fuck off with that,” I hiss, striding towards her.
Her eyes widen and she steps back, stumbling slightly before planting her feet.
Her jaw sets, and she folds her arms across her chest. I tower over her, glaring.
“I am not married. I will never be married.” Venom laces my tone.
“Get that into your thick fucking skull.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, I do,” I retort, stepping back and gesturing down the street. “Go home, Emma.”
She blinks at me. Once. Twice.
I know it’s going to piss her off—as it should—but I need some fucking distance. And to remind her exactly who she is to me, how we’re only even fucking interacting because the State forced us to. She needs to remain as nothing to me. Nothing.
Her lips twist into a sneer. “Emma?” she spits. Shit. “Are you fucking serious?” she yells.
Better she hates me than I lose my head over something I can’t afford. So I just turn, ignoring her, and stride down the street. “You’re welcome, by the way,” I toss over my shoulder. “For helping you out back there.”
“I didn’t need your help! You had no right to say what you did.”
“You ungrateful…” I hiss, spinning on my heel, only to freeze.
She’s there, impossibly close, the space between us almost nonexistent. Our eyes lock, both brimming with anger.
“What?” she presses, lifting her face towards me. “Ungrateful what?”
Something primal stirs inside me. Before I can stop it, my hand slides to her hip, and I shove her back—one step, two, three, four—until her body collides with the wall of one of the houses.
The brick presses into her spine, our bodies close in a way that’s so easy, it’s like we’ve practiced it.
Her curves mould against mine, the warmth of them seeping through her dress and into my hands as my thumb grazes her side. Her breath catches.
Slowly, her gaze drops to my lips, and the faintest shiver flickers through her. Her bright blue eyes meet mine, as though daring me to move.
Reality slams into me, harsh and sudden, and I rip myself away, eyes narrowing into a glare. Her flicker of surprise is quickly replaced with a scowl that only fuels the fire burning in my chest.
“Don’t wait up,” I snap bluntly, before striding down the street and putting distance between us.
Away from her. Away from the tension, that damn dress, and the heat of the moment.
Away from the Married Sector of Nottingham city.