Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
Zac
Kieran leaves the day after my release, and I breathe a sigh of relief, not wanting Emilia to start asking questions. He’s an old friend, and that’s all she needs to know. I tell her I met him at Brook House when I had a room there, but by the frown on her face, I don’t think she believes me.
I stick to it, elaborating to give my story weight. “His sister introduced me to him.”
She freezes, hand on the kitchen cupboard as her blazing eyes dart to mine.
“Maybe you know her. From Grafton?” I ask.
Her lip twitches, but it’s not into a smile.
“Name’s Anna. Can be a bit of a bitch, to be honest, but she was my sister’s roommate—”
“She sounds fan-fucking-tastic,” she mutters, tearing the door open and reaching inside. “I’m going to check in on Kayla before I head to work.”
The cupboard door slams so hard that I jump. She storms towards me, chucking the packet through the air. Instinctively, my arms lift to catch it, muscles immediately screaming, cuts stretching. A grunt leaves my lips just as the unopened biscuits land in my grasp.
She’s out the door before I can even comprehend what just happened.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath.
Slowly, I open the biscuits, biting into one.
There’s a small ache within my chest that doesn’t come from the Enforcers, but something else entirely.
Lying to her about Kieran feels wrong, but the last thing I need is for her to start digging deeper and finding out about the Resistance.
Killmoor gave me plenty of time to reflect while they were torturing me. What they did to me was fucking terrible, and that was for something relatively minor in comparison to the State finding out about the Resistance, and all those involved.
So I’m not telling her anything.
Claudia is the first one back from work.
She fusses around me, and I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t slice all the way through.
Emilia’s next, her wide eyes scanning over me from head to toe for longer than necessary before joining Claudia in the kitchen, the two of them whipping up some pasta that before Killmoor, I’d probably deem inedible.
Now, though, I scarf it down like it’s going to disappear at any moment.
It’s Jordan who helps me up to the bedroom, asking if I want another shower after the humiliation that was him helping me at dawn. I shake my head, falling into the blankets and succumbing to the nightmares once more.
When I wake, Claudia’s there, and then Jordan… but Emilia never comes.
Not until three nights later.
“Shhhh,” she murmurs, resting at the edge of the bed. Her fingers graze along my hairline, and I greedily lean into her touch. My breath is angry and unsteady, my body covered in sweat, but her contact soothes me, grounding me back to a reality in which I’m not imprisoned in Killmoor.
“Emilia?” I utter.
“You’re not there anymore,” she says softly. “You’re not there.”
I’m not there. I’m not there.
My breath steadies, and my pulse slows, but still her fingers trace gently along my skin. And then my eyelids droop, and I fall into a heavy slumber that I don’t wake from until dawn.
Seven days after release, I attempt to do a pushup.
Eight days, and I go for a short walk around the street.
Nine days, and I manage two pushups.
Ten days, and I go for the shortest run I’ve ever done.
I rub the towel over my head, ignoring the dull pain as I do so, and grab the long-sleeve grey hoodie from the top of the toilet, tugging it over my frame before yanking on a pair of black joggers that Jordan brought here for me.
Clean and free of sweat, I head downstairs, grabbing my half-eaten packet of biscuits from the armchair and taking one out. I’ve lost count of how many packets I’ve gone through. My eyes flicker to the blankets on the sofa.
Emilia’s been sleeping there every night despite my insistence that I’m fine to swap with her.
One night, I even suggested she just sleep beside me.
Her eyes widened, lips parting, but she quickly shook her head.
I don’t blame her; I wouldn’t want to sleep next to a broken husk of a man who can’t even sleep through the night.
I once called her a liability.
Never thought I’d become one myself.
I see the fucking pity in her eyes as she watches me struggle to my feet.
The sympathy as her gaze wanders over my bandaged arm, my bruised eyes, the scars on my wrists.
I don’t need it. The look just ignites anger within my chest, desperation and a need to rebuild myself taking over all rational thoughts.
Jordan and Claudia are chatting in the kitchen, but I don’t bother greeting them.
They hardly leave us alone these days. The front door opens quietly.
Emilia steps inside, shutting it behind her.
Her hair is tumbling out of its updo, her face tired, silly heeled boots laced to the middle of her calves.
She drops her bag to the floor, sighing as she reaches down, yanking them off and shrugging out of her big denim jacket, leaving her in a white V-neck tee.
When she turns, she freezes.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey.” My voice is gruff.
“Em.” Claudia appears in the doorway, smiling. “How was work?”
“Fine,” she says, but her voice is flat. “I’m exhausted. You?”
“Same as every other day.” She shrugs. “They still making you pick up Kayla’s work?”
My brow furrows. “Wait, what?”
Emilia lifts a hand, running it through her hair, eyes on me as she ignores my question. “How are you feeling today?” she asks.
My jaw tightens, and I frown. “Same as every other time you ask. They’re making you do extra work?”
She looks away and shrugs. “Only a bit. And Kayla will be back in a few days, so…”
“A bit?” Jordan scoffs, appearing beside Claudia. “They’ve been working her to the bone since you were sent to Killmoor.”
Emilia’s eyes roll. “As if that’s anything compared to what they went through—”
I snap, anger roiling under my skin. “Emilia, that’s fucking bullshit.”
“So was you being sent to Killmoor for a drunk stranger throwing themselves at you,” she snaps. “Newsflash, Zac, life here isn’t fair.”
“They’ll fucking pay, I swear—”
“Oh, yeah?” she cuts in, voice sharp. Her hands fly to her hips as she steps closer. “How?”
“Emilia.” Claudia’s voice is tight.
But Emilia doesn’t even glance her way. She takes another step forward, eyes locked on mine, challenging my words. “How, Zac?” she presses, tone strong and daring.
My jaw clenches and I step closer, too, closing the space between us. Her eyes flash, icy fire meeting mine. She wants an answer, but I don’t have one to give her.
I’ll make them pay. I’ll fucking make them pay.
But she doesn’t need to know how, no matter how much she pushes.
Our breath tangles, unsteady and loaded with anger, defiance, and pain, until I can’t tell what’s mine and what’s hers. The fury in her eyes softens into something I can’t name, and her lips part, the sight enough for my own restraint to start splintering.
Claudia shifts from the kitchen, stepping into the living room. Both of us turn towards her. She points beyond us, to the door. “We… we should head home.”
Jordan rests a hand on her shoulder, brows lifting as he agrees. “Yeah.”
Claudia pulls Emilia in for a quick hug on her way past, and Jordan stops beside me, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Don’t push her away, Zac.”
I frown at his words, but then he’s gone, heading for the front door behind his wife. Emilia pulls back, hands lingering on Claudia’s shoulders before they drop to her sides.
“Oh!” Claudia exclaims. “My jacket.”
It’s hanging off the back of the armchair. I’m closest. I move automatically, reaching for it, but Emilia’s faster.
A soft, apologetic smile is thrown in my direction before she leans over the arm of the chair. She stretches, fingers brushing the burgundy fabric, reaching and reaching, until the sleeve of her white tee slides up.
And I see it.
A dark smudge.
Not dirt. Not a shadow.
And definitely nothing that was there before I went to Killmoor.
Every inch of me freezes. My breath cuts off somewhere in my chest. Every sound, every other thing in the room fades away, until all I can see is ink on her skin.
My throat burns as a furious, raging inferno surges through me.
I must be seeing things. Must be.
Because if I’m not, that can only mean one thing.
“What the fuck is that?” The words tear out of me, low and deadly.