Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Zac
Emilia’s been surprisingly quiet about everything that happened at the Armoury.
She hasn’t pried since we walked home, but I can see the questions in her eyes. I know it’s only a matter of time; it won’t last. She’ll start poking, just like she always does. To try to prolong it for as long as I can, I’ve been doing everything else right in her eyes.
Which is why I’m chucking an unopened bottle of water to her in the training room at Factory Three on a Thursday evening after work. I don’t intend to drag her down with me, but I want her to be able to help herself to some fucking degree when the time comes.
She’s breathing hard, having been trying to take me down for the past half an hour, to no avail. She’s too in her head, not concentrating enough, and I’m not letting her get away with it.
“Two minutes, and we’re going again,” I snap.
She doesn’t respond, just undoes the bottle and takes a sip. I turn away, swigging my own water.
Ever since my hand slipped inside her underwear four days ago, her head thrown back in ecstasy as I fucked her with it, I haven’t been able to get the image out of my head, the encounter only making me crave her more.
Every time she bounces down the stairs in a tight top that struggles to contain her large tits, every time she bends over to get something, something in me wants to throw every ounce of reality out the window.
If I do anything more, she’ll want it all. More than I can give.
And I don’t want to drag her into this. Not the danger or the death, the fear or the fighting.
“So… where do they get their alcohol?” Emilia asks suddenly.
And just like that, I’m out of time. She’s decided she’s fucking done being patient.
Not that I ever planned on giving her answers.
“I’m not against it. If anything, I’m in full support. I’ve been drinking contraband alcohol for years.” She continues. “Rayden’s the one who has access. Whiskey, vodka, gin; no idea who his source is. Maybe it’s the same as that bar—”
“Are you still fucking him?” The words slip out before I can clamp my mouth shut. They’re full of fire, my tone low, almost a growl. I tell myself I’m just trying to derail her, to turn her onto a different conversation. To make her forget about the bar.
But something deep down feels bitter… like denial.
She doesn’t reply for the longest time, but eventually shakes her head. “No.”
“Why not?” I force my tone flat, uncaring.
“It’s too dangerous,” she says. “Plus, I don’t really want—”
“Good,” I spit the word. “At least you’re being smart about one thing.”
One second passes. Two, three, four…
“Unlike you.”
I whirl around, eyes blazing. “What—”
“You’re clearly out there breaking rules every single day.” She jerks her chin up and sweeps a hand around the room. “What is this place? What was that place? Where else are you hiding? Who else?”
I should tell her to fucking shut up.
I should tell her everything.
But the information I’d share could put her in the firing line. I’m not sure I trust her not to spill what we’re doing, and I’m not sure she’s strong enough to join us. But worst of all… I want to protect her.
My teeth clench so tightly, I’m surprised they don’t shatter. “You should keep your questions to yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know the shit you’re getting into by prying.”
I mean it.
Shifting onto her knees, she pushes to her feet. “I want to know.”
“No, you don’t.” It comes out softer than I want, protective and stupid.
“Don’t tell me what I fucking do and don’t want,” Emilia snaps, stepping towards me.
My hand twitches at my side, a sudden, vivid need to curl my fingers around the base of her throat, pushing with just enough pressure to stop the words, to push her back against the wall, dip my hand down and feel her all over again.
The image hits harder than it should, heat and frustration tangling together in my chest.
I close the distance between us. “Why are you always so fucking feisty?” Our noses are inches apart. “You’ll get yourself killed.”
“I’m not scared.” Tilting her head, her eyes twinkle, as though readying to piss me off. “I’ve rebelled against the State. I’ve been to The Cell.” Her lips press into a taunting line. “If it involves fighting against them, I can handle anything you’re hiding.”
My laugh is a short, humourless sound. “Break’s over. Get your hands back up. Protect yourself.”
She does what I say, but it’s a lacklustre attempt. “I drank every fucking contraband bottle I could get my hands on.”
I deliver a weak punch to her arm, and she flinches, arms too slow to deflect me.
“I fucked Rayden,” she says flatly. “Fucked him every week for years, rebelling against the State.”
For a second, I just blink at her, the words not sinking in. But then they do, punching straight into my gut, and a deathly anger settles in my bones, hands trembling with restraint. My nostrils flare, and my teeth clench tight.
Her hand shoots towards me, but I catch it with ease and twist it away. She stumbles, nearly falling. I step forward and send my fist softly into her stomach—not to hurt her, but to remind her of reality. Of the brutality of our world.
And maybe—just maybe—I want it to hurt just a little.
“Where are your hands, Emilia? Protect yourself,” I growl.
She breathes out, breath ragged. “I’d probably keep fucking him if doing so didn’t put you in danger,” she says, raising her fist, but I seize it, twisting it behind her back.
“Be my fucking guest. I don’t care,” I hiss into her ear before letting go with a shove that sends her flying forward. “You should never give such a slow, lousy punch. It’s too easy to overpower you.”
She whirls back to face me. “You’re a liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You do care.”
She’s so sure of herself. My throat bobs, and my hands twitch at my side. For a heartbeat, I want to let it all out—to tell her she’s reckless, that I haven’t stopped thinking about her since the other night, that I’m the only danger she should worry about.
Her eyes are bright, searching mine, a small smirk on her lips as though she thinks she knows what she’ll find there. I swallow the ridiculous confession and scoff, shaking my head.
“You proved that the other night when you fucked me with your—”
I interrupt, voice like venom. “That meant nothing.”
The lie slips out of me, and I hate myself for it.
But Emilia lifts her chin, lips pursed, and says, “I know.”
“Again,” I order.
Her face twists into a grimace. “Fuck off.” Her arms cross over her chest. “I’m not doing this. Not until you give me some fucking answers.”
I start to circle her slowly. “Shame I don’t care what you want.”
I lunge towards her, her hands lifting a second too late. I connect with her shoulder, sending her falling to the floor.
“Not. Fucking. Fair,” she snaps.
“Do you think the State cares what’s fucking fair, blondie?” I spit. I want to shake some sense into her, to make her understand just how bad it is out there without exposing her to it. She rolls onto her back and stares up at me with narrowed eyes full of fury.
“Will you ever be able to fight off an Enforcer with that attitude? Get close enough to Germain to tell her what a bitch she is? I think not. Get up. We’re going again,” I snap.
“No.” She’s already on her feet, cardigan snatched from the floor, boots in hand. She shoots me a cold, brutal glare and stomps to the stairwell, disappearing before I can say another word.
I don’t go after her.
It’s late when I arrive at the Safe House. Emilia was in bed when I left the Married Sector, and the moon is high in the sky, midnight closing in.
I shouldn’t be here, not after Emilia followed me the last time I left the house, but I need something to focus my frustration on, and practicing with a few rounds in the basement—to clear my head, to stop the warring thoughts in my mind—sounded like Heaven.
Quietly, I close the front door behind me before striding across the kitchen.
My feet slow as the sound of voices greet me before I even reach the doorway of the drawing room.
Everyone is crowded around the table, papers strewn everywhere, a couple of half-drunk glasses near Claudia and Jordan, and a flickering candle lighting the space.
Anna spots me first. “Zac!”
I frown, striding closer. “The fuck are you all doing in here?”
“It’s good to see you too, Zac,” Bridget snarks.
“What’s going on? New paperwork?”
“No,” Claudia says. “Something else. Something Anna heard at work today.” My jaw tenses, but I turn to Anna, who’s biting her thumbnail.
“What, another rumour? Something they’re planning?”
“Worse,” Bridget mutters.
My brow furrows. “Then spit it out.”
Anna’s thumb drops from her lips. Her eyes flick over the group, before landing back on me. “It was pure luck, really. I got sent to deliver paperwork to Germain because Claire, the elderly woman who usually does it, was ill.”
“Riveting,” I mutter, crossing my arms across my chest. “Is there a point to this?”
“Shut up, Zac,” Kieran snaps. Surprise renders me speechless; he never argues with me, never bites back. This is serious.
Claudia frowns. “Just get to it, Anna.”
Anna’s voice sharpens. “I am! So, as I approach Germain’s office, I could hear them talking, so I stopped to listen for a moment—”
Bridget scoffs. “Pretty stupid move, if you ask me.”
“Hey!” Kieran snaps. “Her eavesdropping’s helped us before.”
“Until she gets caught,” Bridget fires back.
Jordan slams his palm on the table, loud enough to make Anna flinch. “Enough. Anna, tell Zac what you heard.”
She visibly swallows. “They were talking about an accusation. Someone has reported an infidelity in the Married Sector. They said they saw a couple kissing. A couple who weren’t husband and wife.”
The words hang in the air, and a lead weight settles in my gut. Ignoring it, I just frown and force out the question. “Right… and?”
“They haven’t done anything yet,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “They’re still deciding on a punishment. On what to do about it.”
Something cold slides down my spine. “Why the hell are you telling me this?”
She’s pale. Her eyes flick around the room before settling on Jordan. Beside him, Claudia holds his arm, staring down at the table. The lead in my gut dissolves, turning to poison and spreading outward as the darkest, most hopeless kind of dread.
Jordan steps towards me, leaving his wife behind, his face grave. “Because Zac… the report’s about you. You and Kayla.”
For a second, the room disappears. There’s just a ringing in my ears, the taste of copper in my mouth.
“Fuck.” The word bursts out, raw and rough. I turn, shoving the nearest chair so hard it topples, clattering across the concrete floor. “Who the fuck reported that? It was hardly even a fucking kiss. The girl was smashed out of her fucking mind. I didn’t even fucking reciprocate!”
“Zac…”
“Don’t.” I round on Claudia. “Don’t tell me to calm down. If they’ve got my name, they’ve got hers. You know what that means.”
Jordan’s voice is steady but low. “We don’t know what they’re thinking. They might have all the facts. And if so, maybe they’ll let it go—”
“They won’t let it go,” I snap. “You know that! An example needs to be made. They’ll send the fucking Enforcers, and if I’m not there, they’ll drag Emilia out in front of the whole damn street.” Claudia flinches, Bridget frowns, Jordan’s entire body is rigid, and Kieran just stares at the table.
Anna’s face crumples. “You have to stay here. Please! Don’t go back. If they’re coming after you, it’s suicide.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You do!” she cries, standing and stepping towards me. “Let them think you’ve run. You can hide here, at least until—”
“No,” I bite out. “If I’m missing, they’ll turn on her instead. They’ll make her suffer for my actions.”
“You said yourself you didn’t even kiss that girl!” Anna snaps.
“Zac,” Bridget says quietly. “At least wait for us to make a plan—”
‘No. Every minute I stand here is another minute they could be knocking on our door,” I say, voice low.
Anna launches herself towards me as I turn and head for the door, grabbing my arm. “Zac!”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Peering over my shoulder, the rest of the group are still standing at the table.
Bridget has collapsed into one of the chairs, her hands over her eyes; Claudia bites her lip, staring at the wall; Jordan’s jaw is clenched so tight I imagine his teeth might shatter; Kieran’s pale, leaning against the table, eyes pinned on me; and Anna…
Anna’s grip on my jacket slips as a tear zigzags down her cheek.
I turn away. “If they’re going to make an example of someone, it’s going to be me. Not her.”
“This isn’t smart—” Kieran starts.
“Smart’s for people with time,” I snap. Lifting a hand, I smack it flat against the doorframe before glancing over my shoulder. “Every minute I’m not at work, I’ll be with Emilia. You’ll find me there if you have any updates.”
And then I walk out of the Safe House and into the dark, utterly weaponless, with no plan to fix this, and no idea how to deal with it.
Rage swirls in my gut, tearing into every inch of my body, fuelling me into moving faster.
I’m a ball of determination, and only one thought keeps me from spiralling as I head for Emilia.
If they come for her, they’ll find me first.