Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emilia
Zac’s stepped his game up to the next level.
He’s out most evenings, and most mornings, he leaves two hours before his shifts even start. And despite the bread and jam waiting on the counter each morning, or the warm, perfectly cooked pasta dishes that I find on the counter most evenings, I’m pissed.
I let him in and told him more than I ever fucking should have on the castle wall four days ago, and now I’m regretting every second of it.
Not to mention, the State could drop by for an inspection any day, and I’m not convinced they’ll accept my excuses for him not being here—especially when I can’t even tell them where he goes.
Which is why I’m stewing, curled up in the armchair, blanket pulled up to my chin, hoodie over my head, book in hand. Zac finished work forty-five minutes ago. And unless he’s run into trouble on the road, he’ll be back any minute. He always comes home. He just… doesn’t stay long.
The key turns in the lock and I jump, jolting in my chair and clutching the book tighter, forcing my eyes to the page like I’ve been reading this whole time. Zac steps inside and shuts the door as he hangs his navy duffel bag on the hook.
“Hey,” he mutters.
“Hi,” I reply, forcing my voice to sound casual.
He kicks off his boots and disappears upstairs. I grit my teeth, the quick dismissal grating on my nerves.
A few minutes later, his steps thud against the stairs, and he reappears. He’s changed, swapping the dark blue top and blue jeans for his black leather jacket and dark jeans, ready to disappear into the night.
“Off somewhere?” I can’t hide the bite in my voice.
He glances at me, jaw tightening, then nods. “Yeah. I’ll be back later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just to see… friends.”
“Sourdough girl?”
“I told you, there’s nothing—”
I slam my book shut. “Fuck off, Zac. That’s not what this is about. I don’t give a shit who you fuck.” The words taste bitter and wrong, but I spit them out anyway. “I care that you’re hardly here when Enforcers could be hammering at that door any fucking minute.”
His brow lifts, and he purses his lips.
“Tell me who she is. Where does she live? What does she do? What’s her name?” I fire at him.
“Awfully specific seeing as you said you don’t care—”
“If I go back to The Cell because of you, I will slit your throat in your sleep,” I snap, springing up from the chair, the blanket slipping from my body to the floor. This wasn’t the plan, and my black jeans and boots are now visible, but luckily, Zac doesn’t seem to notice.
He doesn’t blink at the threat. Instead, he steps closer, expression hard and cold. “You won’t go back to The Cell. I made you a promise,” he growls.
“Pretty hard to keep a promise when you’re nowhere to be fucking seen,” I snap.
“The Enforcers aren’t planning any inspections any time soon.”
I scoff, throwing my arms up, outraged. “And how the fuck do you know that?”
“I—”
“Don’t tell me you have your ways! Give me something to actually work with!” I yell, but if he’s surprised by my outburst, he doesn’t show it. He’s calm, utterly unshaken.
“The less you know, the safer you are.”
“Bullshit. Such fucking bullshit!” I spit.
He’s already turning away. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”
The name turns my blood to fire. “Don’t call me that. And fucking answer me—”
The door slams shut.
I’m practically vibrating with fury, my hands shaking.
My entire body buzzes with urgent, fierce adrenaline.
Shaking my head and gritting my teeth, I pull my cream hoodie over my head, throw it onto the armchair, snatch my keys from the hook, and slip out the door, locking it behind me without looking back.
My eyes flick left and right, just in time to catch a hulking silhouette turning down a narrow side street.
I jog after him, heart pounding, trying to stay quiet enough to stay hidden. The sound of my boots on the cracked pavement is maddening. I shift onto my tiptoes, wincing as the heels bite into my feet.
Useless. Completely fucking useless. Zac was right about that.
But they’re pretty, and apparently, I used to be an idiot who cared about that.
Zac cuts through a series of streets, each one darker than the last. I keep my distance, ducking behind the burnt shells of cars and leaning into shadows whenever he glances over his shoulder. My chest burns from holding my breath and my tiptoes throb with pain.
After what feels like forever, Zac turns off the main road and slips through a set of rusted gates. I edge closer, pressing my back against the cold metal. Beyond the gates, the outline of a warehouse looms, its windows half shattered, jagged glass glittering against the moonlight.
Slowly, I follow as he enters the doorless structure.
Inside, the air is heavy with dust from debris, and crates and broken machinery litter the floor. I’m careful where I step, cringing with every crunch of rubble beneath my boots.
Zac’s shadow flickers ahead of me. He moves with purpose, like he’s done this a hundred times. At the far end of the room, he crouches beside a dented metal door I hadn’t even noticed, hidden behind a beam.
He glances over his shoulder once, and my breath catches, but he doesn’t see me. Then, with his fist, he knocks four times in a rhythm that’s too deliberate to be random. He pauses. Another two knocks.
There’s a click, the door swings open, and before I can move, Zac slips inside and disappears.
For a long moment, I just stand there, staring at the metal door like he might re-emerge. A lump rises in my throat, my heart still pounding, but it’s not just fear…
I’ve come this far.
Whatever Zac’s mixed up in, whatever secret he’s been sneaking off to, I deserve to know what kind of mess it could drag me into. I’m not some na?ve wife waiting at the window. I’ve survived worse: gossip, name calling, The Cell, the inspections. I’ve faced them all and walked away standing tall.
I square my shoulders and whisper under my breath. “Come on, Emilia.”
Zac wouldn’t be caught dead with Enforcers, of that I’m certain. Whatever’s behind that door, it can’t be worse than them.
Drawing a breath, I stride up to the metal panel and rap my knuckles against it, trying to mimic the rhythm he used. Four quick knocks, a pause, then two more.
Nothing.
The sound echoes back at me before there’s nothing to hear but blood roaring through my ears.
I frown, wait a beat, then try again, harder this time.
Still nothing.
I let out a shaky breath and take a step back—
The metal door wrenches open, and a hand shoots out, catching my arm before I can gasp. The next second, I’m yanked forward, dragged inside, and slammed back against a wall of steel. The impact knocks the breath out of me, head snapping back with the force.
A man towers over me, tall and broad. Tattoos snake up his neck and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt. His grip on my arm is so tight, I’m already bruising.
“What was that supposed to be?” he growls, voice low and threatening. “Something there didn’t sound quite right.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out but a small, startled breath. My pulse is everywhere at once, hammering in my throat.
“What’s the password?” His eyes narrow. “Say. It.”
“I—” My voice catches.
He leans closer, breath hot against my cheek. “Seems to me you shouldn’t be here, girl.”
“I know Zac,” I blurt, panic clawing at my ribs. “Zachary Hastings. He came in just before me. He’s my husband.”
The man scoffs, the sound sharp and cruel. “Is he now? And what’s your name?”
“Emilia.”
The man sneers. “Haven’t heard him mention an Emilia.”
“Please, I’m telling the truth. I’m his wife. We—”
“It’s a shame we don’t believe in those State marriages here,” the man sneers. “You’re coming with me.” He doesn’t give me time to respond. His hand clamps tighter around my arm and before I can even try one of Zac’s moves, he jerks me forward so hard I almost lose my footing.
“Wait. Please—”
“Move.”
He drags me down a narrow corridor that smells of rust and oil. The air is sterile, the only light spilling from a cold, white tube bulb above us. My boots scrape against the floor as I try to keep up, my breath coming out in panicked bursts.
He shoves me around a corner, and my shoulder slams into the wall, agony coursing through the joint.
I grit my teeth, holding in a cry of pain.
There’s a tiny metal staircase that spirals upward, and he hauls me towards it without slowing.
I stumble, the toe of my boot catching on the first step.
On instinct, my hand goes to catch the railing, but his firm grip stops me from doing so.
My knee collides with the hard metal, and throbbing pain spills across the scar tissue that still lingers in the wake of the war.
“Keep moving, or I’ll kill you right here,” he growls.
Something inside me snaps. Panic flashes into anger and without even thinking it through, Zac’s instructions echo through my head, and I drive my elbow back, aiming for his gut.
But he’s faster. Catching my arm mid-motion, he twists it hard behind my back until I gasp, the pain white hot and piercing.
“Bad move,” he snarls, tightening his grip.
He yanks me upright, arm still pinned to my back. The motion is violent enough to strain my black vest top, the fabric ripping open across my side with a harsh, tearing sound that slices through the silence. Cold air brushes my skin, and humiliation floods through me, burning high above the fear.
“Fucking bitch.”
His grip grows tighter than ever as he drags me higher and higher up the stairwell, our feet clanging against the metal. My breath comes faster now, heart pounding so hard it hurts. I glance back, searching desperately for anyone—anyone—who might be around.
We’re alone.
At the top, the corridor stretches long and narrow, lit by another single flickering tube light that buzzes through the quiet. The pale glow bathes everything in a sickly white, like a bad omen… or a warning.
This was a mistake.
Zac won’t even have the opportunity to rip into me for this.