Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emilia
Ishut off the shower and grab the white towel. Steam curls around me as I rub the rough fabric over my legs and arms, before wrapping it around my chest and reaching for the door.
The second I yank it open, I freeze.
Fuck.
Leaning against the wall, looking like sin itself, Zac’s arms are crossed, head tilted, eyes dragging over me. Slowly, he straightens, and my breath catches. Water still slides down my collarbone, slipping beneath the edge of the towel.
If I ever thought I could shove Zac into the far corners of my mind, I was wrong.
One look at him—shirtless, inked, every inch of him defined and taut—and there’s no way I’ll ever forget this image.
He’s all I can see. I’ve only just processed the tight lines of his abs, greedily trawling up towards the ink that decorates his pecs when he wrenches me back to reality.
“Sorry. Just waiting for the shower,” Zac says.
He takes a step closer, slow and deliberate.
Something absurd screams at me that it’s a challenge.
The air around me closes in until all I can smell is him—leather and summer…
and something darker that shouldn’t make my stomach twist the way it does.
My grip on the towel tightens. I drag my gaze from his chest to his jaw, to his faint, knowing smirk.
“Can I help you?”
“No.”
I move to pass him, but the hallway is too narrow. I edge sideways, shoulder brushing the wall, pretending I’m calm whilst everything inside is screaming.
He doesn’t move. “Like what you see?”
“No.” The word comes out too fast, and his lips part with a hint of a smile, as if he knows better. I drop my gaze, pretending to focus on anything but him—his broad chest, the tattoos winding up his bicep, the sharp line of his jaw.
“Your fight to look anywhere but at me suggests otherwise,” Zac murmurs.
My eyes snap up, meeting his. “It does not! I… I just don’t want to look at you.”
His smirk deepens, and he shoves his hands into his pockets, the motion drawing my attention to the shift of the pure muscle beneath his skin.
“That’s a shame,” he says, voice low and rough. His gaze traces my face, my neck, the drop of water sliding down to the top of the towel. “I like what I see.”
My breath catches. “What?”
My mind freezes, locked on what he just said. Utterly, completely speechless. I never would have expected those words to fall from his mouth, even if Germain tortured him into saying them herself.
“Why are you so surprised?” he asks, tone quieter now.
“Because... you’re… we’re…” I gesture between us uselessly, mind blank under the weight of his stare.
“I have eyes,” he murmurs, taking another step closer, breath brushing over my skin. Goosebumps scatter across my chest as his gaze lingers, slow and deliberate, tracing my features. His eyes are dark, as though he’s balancing on the edge of something dangerous.
Then his hand moves, fingers ghosting over the back of mine, the one that’s holding the towel closed. My skin prickles with heat, nerves sparking to life.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Zac murmurs and brushes past me, close enough that the heat of him lingers, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.
My eyes are lined with dark, heavy make-up, my hair gathered into a loose, high ponytail. The burgundy, tight one shoulder top stops just below my belly button, and the black scrap of material round my waist below can hardly even be classed as a mini-skirt.
I don’t care.
I swipe gloss over my lips, before dropping the tube onto the messy bedside table that I know I need to clean up. Tomorrow.
Leaving the bedroom, I quickly descend the stairs. Zac’s sitting on the brown armchair, cringing at the book in his hands. My book.
“Enjoying the story?”
“What kind of bullshit is this? Fae? Men with wings—” He looks up and stops, eyes zeroing in on me, standing midway down the stairs.
I smirk, continuing the rest of the way down before walking over and ripping the book from his hands.
“No judgment,” I warn. “I only have three books. Luckily, two of them are good.”
“Emilia…”
“Should we go?”
“You’re… I mean…” He blinks at me. “Nice top.”
“Thanks.” I smirk. “Cost thirty vouchers.”
“Thirty?”
I lean down, tugging my boots on before making a show of tapping the heel. “These were forty.”
“Forty? Emilia—”
“I know, I know! I should have spent that amount on something sensible like yours.” I gesture to the black footwear already on his feet. “But back in the day, I had bigger priorities.”
“Bigger priorities?” he echoes and takes another step closer.
I straighten, throwing my ponytail behind my shoulder. “I didn’t take too well to the State system. Did you know Germain’s a science teacher? She was my teacher before the war. And during the State’s first few years, I used all of my vouchers to buy inappropriate clothing to wear to her lessons.”
“Inappropriate?”
I nod. “Low-cut, see through, lacy, short.” I shrug. “I’m not sure what I thought it would achieve.”
He frowns.
“I’ve spent the past two and a half years using my vouchers to buy leggings, joggers and hoodies instead.”
“Emilia—”
I don’t know what he’s going to say, but no doubt it’s heavy judgment and commentary on my immaturity, so I don’t stick around to hear it. “I need to pop across the street and give this to Heidi.” I hold up a ball of blue fabric. “Meet you outside in five minutes?”
“Em—”
I’m gone.
Striding across the street, my heeled boots clack on the tarmac, chin high. I don’t need to listen to Zac’s snide comments, his utter bewilderment over the clothes I own or what I thought I was doing by purchasing them.
It was stupid. I know that. I don’t need to hear it.
I can already hear the hum of music from down the street, and my shoulders relax. The sound is familiar—reminiscent of five years ago.
Back at Grafton House, the girls would throw parties at the nearby park nearly every Friday for a good six months until the Enforcers found out, turning up one week to break it up and forbidding anyone from doing it again.
Apparently, teenagers partying and drinking in a field is not the sort of cultural values they want to promote—who knew.
The Enforcers do whatever they want. I saw it even that night as one of them grabbed a bottle of gin and started drinking it whilst slamming his baton into the back of one girl’s thigh.
At some point, during the early post-war days of pandemonium and panicking, when Elissa Germain took control, she offered certain people—sadistic people who would enforce control—food and weapons and protection.
And those people became her Enforcers.
In a world like this, most people would take her up on her offer. It’s not hard to see why their ranks keep growing.
Knocking on Number 14, I stand back, waiting as I hear movement on the other side before the door flies open. Sam grins at the sight of me. He steps back, gesturing for me to enter.
“Where’s Heidi?” I ask, stepping into their cosy living room.
“Upstairs, getting ready.”
“I brought her a blue top to wear,” I reply, waving the fabric and beginning to make my way towards the stairs.
“Doesn’t she have her own clothes?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “But she likes this one.”
“It’s yours.”
“And there’s no harm in her having the same taste as me, Sam! Girls share.”
“Fine,” he says. “Just don’t talk her into green highlights. Even Rayden was running from you when you did that.”
“That was seven years ago, you idiot. I was a child.”
“And yet, I still had to cycle to pick you up from Rayden’s house because you got into a drinking battle with Kayla and lost,” Sam reminds me. I recoil, nose wrinkling at the memory. “You vomited down my back.”
“And yet you’re still here,” I counter. “Can’t have been that bad.” He scoffs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. I step closer, glancing up at the empty stairs before lowering my voice. “How are you doing? Arranged marriage, and all?”
He smiles softly before shrugging. “It was hard at first, and even now… sometimes. But Heidi’s the most understanding girl they ever could have matched me with. She really listens, you know?”
“I do know. That girl wormed her way into my heart years ago.”
His grin widens ever so slightly, before he shakes his head. “She and Molly would’ve gotten on well.”
I’m not sure I agree with that, but I just nod, reaching out and squeezing his arm.
“Is that Mils?” Heidi’s voice echoes from upstairs.
“Yeah, Heid,” I call back, not taking my eyes off Sam. Lowering my voice, I tell him, “I know she’s like my sister, Sam. But you’re my best friend. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
He reaches out, hooking an arm around my shoulder before pulling me in for a hug. His voice is hoarse when he replies, “I know you are.”
“Mils?” Heidi exclaims.
“I’m coming!” I yell up the stairs, turning away from my best friend and striding up the flight before walking into the bedroom.
“I don’t know what to wear!” she exclaims, appearing from a pile of clothes.
“I figured you’d be having a meltdown.” I giggle, chucking the top at her. “I brought this.”
“Oh, you lifesaver!” she squeals, instantly tugging it over her head. “Thank you!”
I slouch onto the mattress, holding myself up with one arm.
“How does it look?” she asks, stumbling as she stands from the pile.
“Beautiful.” I grin. She throws her brunette hair over her light brown shoulder, the loose blue lace complimenting her small frame way better than it ever does mine. She should really just keep it. It’s too tight for me anyway.
“Did you hear that Briony has been spending a lot of time over here?” Heidi asks, reaching for her bedside table and grabbing a hairbrush.
“She has? Why?”
She shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe she’s friends with Nina? It sure looked that way at the last party.”
“It was weird she was at that. Wasn’t it a welcome party for the married couples?”
“She’s definitely pushing her luck.”
“Maybe I’ll report her—”
“Mils!”
“I’m kidding. I wouldn’t wish The Cell on anyone,” I admit, tilting my head. “Doesn’t mean I can’t imagine it, though.”