Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Zac
Ishove the key in the door, only to find it already unlocked. Frowning, I slowly push the front door open and step into the quiet house, switching the lights on and glancing around.
Nothing. No sound, no signs of life.
I close the door behind me. Chucking the keys on the tiny side table, I head upstairs, wondering where Emilia is.
The main bedroom’s empty, girlie crap scattered across the bed and floor. The bathroom door’s wide open—she’s not in there either. I check the tiny box room next. Empty.
Fuck this.
I let Claudia convince me it was a good idea to come back, and she isn’t even home.
Descending the stairs, I quickly check the kitchen. There’s something on the counter with a towel thrown over it. I grab the fabric, wrenching it off.
The stench of gone off meat hits me almost instantly, and I flinch, grimacing, before swiftly emptying the sandwich into the bin.
So not only is she full of drama… she’s messy. Untidy. Fucking perfect.
I pull the cupboards open, raising a brow at the almost empty shelves.
Slamming the doors shut, I head back to the front door, not sparing another look at the miserable house.
I shove my hands into my pockets and step back into the rain.
It’s pissing down, cold and relentless, and my clothes are soaked by the time I reach the boarded-up Safe House.
Rounding the side, I slip through the thick wooden door into the warmth. My leather jacket lands in a wet heap over a dining chair as I grab a towel from the kitchen and rub it over my hair.
I’m still rubbing my head when I hear footsteps.
“Back so soon?” Anna asks.
I don’t respond, instead hanging the towel on a rail and walking past her into the old drawing room.
Claudia looks up from a notepad, her pen pausing mid-scribble. She frowns. “You argued again?”
I roll my eyes. “She wasn’t there. Didn’t fancy waiting around.” I slouch onto the sagging brown couch in the far corner. It’s old, practically falling apart, but it’s still one of the comfiest things I have in this world. As is everything inside this place.
It’s been two years since Jordan, Anna and I stumbled across this abandoned—albeit nearly entirely untouched in the war—house. We’d broken inside, fixed it up, and made it into our haven for whenever it was safe enough for us to slip away from the State’s prying eyes.
Anna convinced us that her brother, Kieran, was trustworthy enough to pull into the fold—the final nail in the coffin being his knack for technology and understanding of the grid.
Only one month later he’d managed to hook our haven up to the State’s own power supply, siphoning off their lines in small amounts so that they’d be unlikely to notice.
Bridget—working miserably in the weapons factory with Jordan—had wormed her way into our group before that year was out.
“Your wife gave you the slip?” Jordan smirks.
I scoff. “She’s not my wife.”
“You’ll give in eventually,” Claudia says, grinning as Jordan tugs her up, sliding onto the chair beneath her.
“No, he won’t,” Anna argues from the kitchen doorway, leaning against it with her arms crossed. “Zac’s not stupid.”
“What do you know?” Claudia asks.
“She just wants to keep Zac to herself,” Bridget exclaims, appearing behind Anna and shoving her shoulder as she passes.
“I do not,” Anna snaps, but Bridget’s already ignoring her, waving something in my direction. I sit up, eyes zoning in on the cold lump of metal just as she places it into my hand.
I lift a brow at the dark-haired girl. “You stole another?”
“Eleven guns and counting,” she says proudly, sinking onto the seat beside me. “I’ll stash it in the basement later.”
“You’ve got to be careful, Bridge,” Jordan warns from the table.
Bridget shrugs. “They don’t suspect me.”
“All well and good,” I mutter, weighing the gun in my palm. “But let’s keep it that way.”
She rolls her eyes, nodding at us. “I will.”
“Sounds like Bridget’s playing vigilante again?” Kieran calls as he jogs up the basement steps. “Another gun?”
Bridget purses her lips. “You’re welcome.”
He just grins, taking the weapon from my hands. Turning it over, he studies the make and weight, running his thumb along the barrel.
“No ammunition, though,” he says. “We still haven’t got a chance in hell against them.”
“Yet,” Claudia says. “We have time.”
“The longer we wait, the more of us get partnered off,” Anna says.
Bridget snorts. “There’s a whole year before that happens again.”
Claudia tilts her head at Anna. “You’re just jealous you haven’t been matched with anyone yet.”
“I am not! Being married doesn’t exactly make it easy for any of you to sneak back here,” Anna snaps, tone sharp.
Fucking hell.
I’m not here for petty arguments. I have Emilia for that.
“Seems like Zac’s doing okay with it,” Kieran mutters, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Was last night your second in a row here?”
I shrug, slouching against the couch, resting my head against the back.
“Where is your wife, anyway?” Bridget asks, nudging my shoulder. “Emilia, right?”
“She isn’t my wife,” I repeat, for what feels like the hundredth time. “And why do you want to know?”
Bridget shrugs. “Colour me curious. I want to see who they stuck you with.”
“I’m twenty-four,” I say flatly. “It wasn’t even one of their, ‘let’s pretend we’re matching them because of their shared interests’ pairings. They just dumped her on me. We’ve got nothing in common.”
“Zac’s a psychic,” Claudia pipes up.
“What?” I lift my head, brow furrowing.
She shrugs, smirking. “Seeing as you’ve only spoken to her for a grand total of less than ten minutes, you must be psychic; it’s the only way you’d know you have nothing in common.”
I groan, closing my eyes. “Give it a rest, Claudia.”
“So, where is she?” Bridget presses.
“I have no idea.”
Kieran smirks. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds to me like Zac’s found someone just like him—”
“She’s nothing like me.”
“I beg to differ.” Jordan snorts. “Yesterday, at the party we went to, Emilia was in trouble for shagging someone’s husband. Good thing Zac was there to save the day.”
“What a hero,” Bridget murmurs, tilting her head at me, a smirk on her lips.
“She didn’t fuck him.” The words are out before I can stop them—sharp, defensive, and automatic. I don’t know why I say them. I’m not even sure she told me the truth; it’s not like she’s been given any reason to trust me.
“If her knight in shining armour hadn’t saved her—”
“I’m not her fucking anything,” I snap at Jordan, cutting him off.
“Alright. Let’s calm down,” Claudia suggests, arms outstretched as she looks between her husband and me.
Closing my eyes, I drape an arm across my face, annoyed and frustrated. Why the fuck are they so obsessed with Emilia?
Fucking let it go.
Thankfully, Kieran changes the subject, asking Bridget how she managed to get her hands on the gun. I tune them out, reaching across the coffee table for the half-empty packet of biscuits and snapping one in half with my teeth.
Jordan and Claudia drift into their usual lovey-dovey nonsense, whispering and laughing at the table; Anna disappears upstairs without a word; Kieran checks the sight on the gun, muttering about balance and weight; and Bridget slides a bottle of beer my way, grinning as she cracks one open herself.
When I finally glance at the clock, it’s later than I thought. Reluctantly, I stand, grabbing my jacket from the kitchen, and head for the door. Anna’s descending the stairs, eyes brightening at the sight of me.
“Where are you going?” Kieran calls after me.
“Back to Number fucking 8. As you said, I’ve been gone two nights in a row,” I retort, grabbing a pasty and a beer from the kitchen side.
Anna reaches out as I pass, hand splaying over my chest, light green eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, voice light and teasing.
I frown. What? Come with me? Back to Emilia? She’s lost the plot.
“No.”
She shrugs before ducking to root through the cupboard beneath the sink. I step past her, opening the door, and slip into the dark alleyway.
I don’t know what’s come over me the past couple of days; Anna’s always been great at stress relief, and waking up to her mouth around me this morning was great… apart from the fact that it was Emilia’s damn face in my mind. When I realised it was Anna, I shot upright, shoving her away.
After getting dressed and heading downstairs, Claudia had insisted I check on Emilia, reminding me I should be careful not to break the rules.
Fucking State.
I won’t risk it. Not in public. I’m not stupid. I know what the Enforcers do to people who disobey them. There are bigger things at stake, a greater plan that means we all need to stay under the radar.
Making my way back to the clustered terrace houses of fairy-fucking-tale couples, I’m grateful the rain has stopped.
I slip inside the tiny house and shut the door behind me. Nothing greets me but silence.
Either she’s still out. Or she’s asleep.
I don’t care enough to find out which.
I’m woken abruptly by the slam of the front door.
I shoot up from the sofa, fists clenching, scanning the room for a weapon—a gun, a knife, anything. Coming up short, I curse, pivoting towards the intruder.
My eyes widen at Emilia, the sight of her stealing my breath.
Her hair is tangled and matted, patches of something dark clinging to it.
Her top is dirty, her joggers torn across the thigh.
Every inch of fabric is stained—dark, sticky splotches that could be anything.
Three raw scratches mar the right side of her face, and dried blood stains her temple, coating her paler than usual skin.
Her eyes meet mine, haunted and bloodshot. For a fleeting second, her bottom lip quivers before she steadies herself, pressing her lips into a thin line.
I take a step forward, but my legs are heavier than usual. A tidal wave of fury and helplessness washes through me, raw and unfiltered. I want to rip whoever did this apart.
She’s a nightmare. A liability. I don’t like her.
And yet, in this moment, none of that matters. The need to protect her claws through every sense in my body, searing, violent and impossible to ignore.
My voice is practically a growl as I ask, “What the fuck happened to you?”