8. Zela #2
I feel his breath on my ear, and it takes everything in me to keep my breathing under control.
He needs to move.
I don’t like people this close, not since—no, I can’t go there.
Even still, this isn’t the usual reaction I have. Something about him feels different, but I can’t look too closely at what that might mean.
He walks me through how to turn the heating on and adjust the temperature. I nod as if I’m listening, but I’m probably only catching every fifth or sixth word, my head spinning with his proximity, his scent, and warmth I feel at my back.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I feel him move away, his heat going with him, leaving me feeling colder once again. It’s not until he’s moved back to make his own breakfast at the stove that I realize that was more words than I’ve ever heard Isaac say at once.
Huh. It’s too bad; he has a nice voice.
Maybe too nice, if you ask me.
Turning back to my bagel, I stuff it in my mouth and take a big bite, unable to stop my reaction to how damn good it really is.
“Told you it was the best.” I almost don’t hear him, but I do, and suddenly I’m very aware of the fact that I just moaned over a bagel with him only feet from me.
If the ground could open up and take me to hell, that would be great.
“How was studying?”
“Good,” I say, keeping it short and sweet.
I’m not sure what Isaac is doing, but he usually isn’t one for conversation, from what I’ve seen. In every interaction I’ve had with the three of them, he usually has the least to say, more interested in what isn’t being said.
That might work with everyone else, but I know better. It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about.
I should know. I’m a quiet one, too, after all.
I move to put the creamer and butter away before heading back toward him, where he stands at the stove, cooking eggs.
They smell delicious, and I almost regret my choice, until I think about what a clusterfuck I would have been in had we both needed the stove to cook.
Don’t get me wrong, the kitchen is huge, and the stove has six fucking burners.
But somehow, I doubt that would have been enough.
Hell, it was hard enough to stay away from him when I was using the toaster a dozen steps away from him.
I need to leave before I do anything else to damn myself. With my coffee done, my bagel cooked, and my mess cleaned up, I grab my things and turn to head back up to my room. No way am I going to sit my ass down at the table to eat with him.
“Leaving so soon?”
Isaac’s question stops me short, and I turn to find him still cooking. His eyes focused on his food, but the smirk on his face is clear even from across the room.
“We missed you last night,” he says
“Somehow, I highly doubt that,” I snort.
“Oh, don’t be so sure about that. Kolson was very torn up about it.”
“No, Kolson was upset that I wasn’t tripping over myself to do whatever the fuck he said because he’s a spoiled brat,” I seethe, the words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them.
Shit.
I’ve definitely got his attention now. I watch as Isaac's brow arches, his eyes shining with amusement. If my hands weren't full, I would facepalm, but I’d rather not wear my bagel.
“You got me there, Kit,” he says with a chuckle, taking me by surprise. That’s not at all what I expected him to say. No, I was ready for him to defend Kolson, or, at the very least, run and tell him what I said. Although, I guess there’s nothing to say, he still won’t do just that.
And what the fuck is with the weird nickname?
I open my mouth to ask him, but I don’t get the chance.
“The result is still the same, though. You'll find that growing up as we did leads you to expect certain things. One of those things being that people are willing to do just about whatever they can to make him happy. Money and power are excellent motivators, and if those fail, fear works pretty well, too.”
I snort a humorless laugh that has his eyes widening just a fraction.
“I don’t want your money or your power,” I tell him, shoving my bagel in my mouth and setting my plate in the sink.
I don’t need all of that in my room, as it goes; I’ll finish my bagel before I’m even back up there.
The floor is toasty warm under my feet now, and I hope that I can remember how he did that in the future.
It’s a pleasant feature, one I’m excited to use considering it’s here, but it doesn’t change my statement.
I survived without heated floors, and I could do it again.
Could they?
I doubt it.
“And he doesn’t scare me.”
Isaac flicks off the flames on the stove before sliding his eggs onto his plate and setting the pan back on the burner. His food might be done now, but instead of eating, he ignores it and turns to face me.
His eyes narrow, and he looks me over as if trying to see through me. I hold his gaze, unwilling to back down, and square my shoulders.
“If he doesn’t scare you, then why did you run away?” he asks me, and I roll my eyes.
I know Isaac is smart. I can see it in his eyes and the way they take in everything around him. He’s calculating and quiet, so why are we going over this again?
“I didn’t run. I told all three of you I was busy and I wouldn’t be there. You just chose not to listen.”
His lips curl, and his eyes shine with mirth as they rake over me, assessing, calculating, just like I said.
“Oh, I listened. It’s what I do, what I’m good at.
The problem here is that your words and actions don't match up. I believe you have no interest in our money, power, or name. Hell, I think if you had the choice, you would go back to your house and be just fine without any of this.” He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the very lavish kitchen around us.
“I also don’t think you’re lying when you say you aren’t afraid of him, of us.
I’ve seen fear, been around it all my life.
Fear of living up to expectations, fear of failure—everyone has something they're afraid of, but more often than not, fear of upsetting Kolson is enough to get most people to fall in line.” He leans into my space, his eyes searching mine for something I know he won’t find.
“But not you,” he says, cocking his head to the side, watching me as if I’m some science experiment that he can’t wrap his mind around.
“You say you didn’t run, yet I went to the library last night. We knew you wouldn’t show. We counted on it and planned for it. The moment we saw you were gone, Kolson sent me to collect you, but when I arrived at the school, you were nowhere to be found. Nobody saw you.”
My stomach does a fucking backflip at his words. I hadn’t expected them to come looking for me, though I suppose I should have.
Just when I think it can’t get much worse, it does.
“At first, I thought maybe you had gone back to your old school. It was a smart idea, one I could see you coming up with, considering how quick-witted you seem. Yet even there, nobody had seen you, and even stranger still, when I asked around, showed your picture, people knew you from classes but had never seen you come to study on a Saturday.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m almost sure he can hear it, but I keep my mouth closed and my gaze fixed on his, unwilling to give him even a hint that he’s onto something.
“So the real question is, where do you go, Zela? You might not be running from us, but you are hiding something. Something I get the feeling you don’t want us to know.
” He moves a step closer, and it takes everything in me not to take one back to keep space between us.
“What could be so important that you'd lie and face potential wrath from Kolson over not one thing but two?”
He leans down, so close that we're almost nose to nose, and I’m damn near cross-eyed looking up at him. I hold my breath, and my lungs scream, but it’s the only way to stop myself from gasping at his words.
I knew Isaac was too smart. I should have covered my ass better, paid off someone to say they’d seen me before, or scouted a place I could have claimed to hide away, even if only to buy myself a little more time.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
“I’ve got a few ideas.” His eyes shine, and his lips pull up enough for me to know he’s enjoying this before he turns away. Moving back to the stove, he grabs his plate and moves past me.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if I’m right or not.”
Black spots dot my eyes as I hear his footsteps retreat, followed by the scrape of his chair on the floor in the dining room.
I double over, bracing my hands on my knees as I heave in lungfuls of air even as panic threatens to choke me.
I’m so fucked.