Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Emilia
You,” I snap back at Zac.
My trembling hands are clutched to my chest as he scans the length of my body. Confusion flickers in his eyes, mixed with something else. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say it was worry. Ha! Good one, Emilia.
“What?”
“You happened to me.”
He flinches. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I ignore him, eyes dropping to the carpet that’s still muddy from the Enforcers’ boots. His gaze follows mine, and his brow creases.
“Emilia—”
“You didn’t notice those?”
“I… No.” His jaw clenches, eyes on the floor. “I only stopped by briefly. Didn’t really… pay much attention.”
I glance at the armchair, the filthy envelope taunting me. “They found that,” I say, voice flat and fragile.
When I glance at him, his eyes have darkened, jaw tight, face twisted with something like regret, or possibly anger or disbelief.
“They put me in The Cell,” I tell him, voice cracking. “Twenty-four hours. Because of something you did.”
“Fuck!” The word tears out of him. There’s a rough edge to his voice, but beneath it, a faint, unfamiliar twang slips through. He steps forward, pain etched across his features. “Emilia—”
“Don’t,” I snap, holding up a hand, ignoring the spearing agony that sears through my arm. I don’t want to hear his half-hearted apology. If he had cared—really cared—I wouldn’t be standing here about to collapse.
“I didn’t think they—”
“The rules are in it,” I cut him off, trying to keep my voice steady, but even I know my exhaustion is shining through.
Every breath has my ribs aching, the scar tissue aggravated and tight.
“Laws and rules that we’re meant to live by.
One of those?” I tilt my head, the base of my skull pounding as I do.
“You are equally responsible for everything your partner does.”
“I... I didn’t know that,” he admits, regret bleeding through his expression.
“Your friends not share that with you?”
“I… Maybe. I don’t really listen when they talk about… this,” he admits with a grimace.
“Of course you don’t,” I mutter. “I’m not surprised. You threw them”—I nod towards the envelope—“the fuck away. I warned you.”
“I know you did.” His head drops, jaw grinding, as if saying those words pain him. “I should have listened to you.”
“You think?” I say with a scoff. My voice wavers. Tears sting my eyes, and I tear my gaze to the floor, refusing to let him see.
“Emilia—”
I take a shaky step back, reaching for the bannister to pull myself up the stairs. Agony rips through my wrist, spearing up to my armpit. I hiss, snatching my arm back on instinct. Zac moves fast, hand already reaching out.
“Don’t touch me!” I snap, flinching away. He did this. A bruise on the top of my back screams as my spine meets the wall.
“You can be as pissed at me as you want,” he says, stepping closer despite my words. “I don’t care. You need help.”
“Have you ever been in there before?” I cut him off, voice harsh. He blinks. His eyes—darker than ever—lock on mine. “The Cell?” I clarify.
He barely reacts. “No.”
“No?” I almost choke on the word. “How? You’re… you.”
“You have to be discreet,” he replies. “Fucking someone else’s husband at a party? Not discreet.”
“For the last time, I didn’t fuck him!” I spit back. “And I hardly think you’ve been discreet. Look. At. Me!”
His next words are quiet, eyes falling from mine, to the state of my body. “This isn’t my finest moment.” I try for an unamused laugh, but all that comes out is a shaky burst of air. “I’m sorry, Emilia. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” I bite out before pushing against him. “Ahh!” A cry tears from me as his body brushes my hip.
“What did they fucking do to you?” Zac snaps.
Before I can react, he grabs the hem of my top and yanks it up. I don’t even have the strength to stop him. Both of our eyes fall onto the dark mark that’s forming on my hipbone, and his breath catches.
“Tell me what they did, Emilia!” he demands, voice filled with the fiercest anger I’ve ever heard, helpless, and almost feral.
His hand lifts, cupping the uninjured side of my face with softness that doesn’t match the violence in his voice.
“I… They… It…” I falter, tears welling in my eyes as I think back over the past twenty-four hours—flashes of screams, of the stench, the repetition, the hell. I want to shiver, cry, scream, and vomit all at the same time. “I can’t…” A sob rips out of me. “I can’t go back there again.”
And then I break, the tears coming fast and ugly, my whole body shaking as the fight drains out of me.
“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes flicking between the bruise and my face, his expression a storm of guilt and disbelief. “They did this to you because of me.”
I don’t answer, my eyes fixed to his dark blue top, tracing over the simplicity of the cotton. The scent of leather and summer and oil fills my lungs, comforting and suffocating all at once as I try to breathe between sobs.
“They won’t touch you again,” Zac vows, a deep, rough growl that reeks of promise.
As soon as the words leave his mouth, I reach up, gripping onto his top with as much force as I can muster, not caring if he pushes me away.
Right now, I need something solid to hold on to, some kind of reassurance.
And for better or worse, he’s the only one allowed to give it; it’s not like either of us can ever escape Germain and her rules.
Slowly, I feel his hand curl softly around my lower back. There’s no pain, and soon enough, his hold tightens, keeping a careful distance between us but still there… surrounding me. Protecting me.
If I had any common sense left in me, I’d say this was laughable. Zachary Hastings—holding me. Comforting his liability.
But I don’t.
My eyes close, breathing him in: summer like freshly cut grass… It’s… nice.
We stay by the front door for what feels like forever, both silent, both consumed by our thoughts.
I fight to keep the torturous memories at bay; instead, thinking of my brother running across the garden with Eva on his heels.
Mum in the kitchen, baking her weekly cake.
Dad sitting in the car, honking and yelling at me to hurry up.
I haven’t seen a normal car in years; only the heavily armoured trucks the Enforcers drive.
Just like the one they threw me in the back of before delivering me to The Cell—
No, Emilia.
I miss my family more than words can describe. Grief tore me apart when I lost them, and I vowed from that moment that I would never have a family ever again. In a world like this, such a thing can only be used to ruin you.
And yet here I am, forced into a make-believe one. Ordered to play along, no matter how much it hurts. Zac hates it as much as me—I can tell by the way he’s treated me up until now. He wants out of this just as much as I do.
My thoughts shift to him. His deep brown eyes.
The weight of his large hand, splayed over my back.
How he’s holding me without asking for anything in return…
even if he is the entire reason for my dishevelled, broken state.
I don’t dare move or speak, afraid that if I do, I’ll break whatever fragile truce exists between us.
Because the moment I tell him I’m fine on my own, he’ll go. Walk straight out the door.
Just like always.
But as reluctant as I am, I know I have to move. It’s not like we can stay like this forever. My legs tremble beneath me, and a fierce pounding attacks my skull. The longer I stand here, the weaker I get, and the last thing I want is for Zac to have to catch me.
“I…” I pull back, tilting my chin to look up at him. His jaw is tight, eyes utterly unreadable as they meet mine. “I need to wash up,” I murmur, barely more than a whisper. My leg screams as I lift it, and I grimace as pain shoots up my thigh.
“You can barely walk,” Zac mutters, voice laced with something rough. Something tells me it’s guilt. Before I can argue, his hands are at my waist and a startled gasp slips through my lips from the unexpected action.
I’m too weak to argue as he guides me up each step, his grip firm but gentle, the warmth of his palms seeping through the thin fabric of my dirty, torn top.
At the top, he steers me into the bathroom, setting me on the closed lid of the toilet before turning and leaning over the bathtub. He yanks his sleeves up to his elbows, but not quite enough for me to glimpse that forbidden ink.
My lips part, caught off guard by his care, by the fact that he’s doing any of this at all.
The rush of water fills the silence, drowning out the pounding of my heart. Steam rises past his shoulders; shoulders that are lower than normal, making him look almost human, and not the infuriating, selfish machine I thought he was.
I stare. The tension in his back, the way his fingers tighten around the tap. I can tell he wants to say something, probably to apologise again. But he doesn’t. He just turns to look at me, jaw clenched, the air thick with my pain and his guilt. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve been wrong about him.
“Thank you,” I mutter quietly.
“Take these off,” he says, fingers brushing the torn material that covers my torso.
“No!” I shake my head. “Not until you leave.”
“Never took you as one for being shy, Emilia.” His mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile, more of a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not leaving.”
“What?” I splutter, eyes wide. “You think I’m going to get in the bath with you in here?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m not!”
“Look at you!” he snaps. “I can’t leave you in this state; you’ll probably drown yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “Hardly. You’re being dramatic.”
“Fine,” he says tightly. “But how do you expect to wash your hair?”
“I’ll manage.”
He exhales through his nose. “Either way, I think I’ll stay. Just in case.” I just stare at him, unsure how to fight back. He shakes his head, cursing under his breath before saying, “For fuck’s sake, Emilia. Just keep your underwear on.”
I shake my head.
“Strip,” he orders, reaching for my top. “Or I will rip it off you myself, Emilia!”