19. Isaac
Friday Morning
“I’m not sure she has anything presentable,” Kolson tells me as he sits in the den, going over everything for tonight’s ‘warm-up,’ as we’ve come to call it.
There’s only one week until Tank and Vixen go head to head in our biggest event to date, and it’s been sold out for weeks.
Not long ago, I’d been excited as well, but with each day, I worry more about how we’re going to explain our sister ending up in the hospital or worse.
Tank earned his nickname, and putting Zela up against him seems like a terrible idea.
“I trust you can make sure she’s presentable?” It’s an insulting question, and the glare I give Kol lets him know I think as much, yet he still waits for me to verbally respond.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he says, pushing to his feet and leaving without another word.
He could have taken her, or simply given her the card he had made for her and let her go on her own. Though he might not be far off in his concern that she has nothing, and as such, one must wonder why.
I know for sure that she makes enough money to afford more than the baggy clothes she insists on hiding behind. Yet when I broke into her room while she was in class, I found not one single dress.
We might not see eye to eye with her, but the last thing we can allow her to do is ruin Mother’s day.
She’s been through more than her share of hardship, and while she lives a cushioned life of luxury now, loved and adored by a man she loves, that wasn’t always the case.
Father never loved her. They were a marriage of convenience, at best, and he bought her, at worst.
Both mother and father came from old money, the kind that tries to keep it in the family.
The best thing that ever happened to her was our Father getting cancer, because as much as he might have shaped us and given us The Pit, he was a cancer himself.
Our lessons were beaten into us, and I had the scars to remember them by; we all did.
Best to get this over with.
The den is down the hall from her room, which sits right between mine and Jace’s, something we did on purpose. I fight the urge to go to my room and see her; I know she’s in there.
I’d been watching her not twenty minutes ago, before Kolson summoned me; it’s become a habit of sorts. But someone has to know when she comes and goes.
Tank might be on lookout duty, but she’s managed to give us all the slip one too many times now; she won’t be doing it again.
I stop in front of her door, listening for a moment, but I don’t hear anything.
Wrapping my knuckles on the door, I wait and wait.
I should have known she wouldn’t answer, not that I can blame her exactly. I probably wouldn’t either if I were her.
Fishing my phone from my pocket, I shoot off a text.
It’s rude to leave someone at the door.
I hear her phone chime and see the dots pop up almost instantly.
Get fucked.
I grind my teeth even as I feel the blood run south and my cock pulses.
Answer the door, or I’ll let myself in, and you won’t have enough time to get a new lock before bed tonight.
I crave being back in my room, able to see her response on the screen.
She’s always so expressive and unapologetically herself.
It’s both exhausting and refreshing.
I have to bite the inside of my lip when I hear movement, and her door cracks open a moment later, her gaze hard and annoyance written all over her face.
“What?” she snaps, and I lose my hold on myself, my lips curling up, as I peer down at her.
“We’re leaving,” I tell her and watch as her brows pull together.
“Good for you.”
Clearly, I need to be more direct.
“We, as in me and you,” I clarify, and her gaze moves down, all the way to my feet, before it works its way back up, and she meets my gaze once again, her eyes narrowed and unimpressed.
“Pass,” she says, and I know what she’s about to do before she does it. That doesn’t explain what I do, though.
As she pushes the door closed, I move, grabbing the doorframe and putting my fingers between it and the door.
I grit my teeth as the door makes contact, but it doesn’t last long before she yanks it open again, or as far as she can with that stupid lock.
“Are you out of your mind?” she hisses, her eyes wide. I don’t answer, but I’m not sure I need to. She knows my brothers; she has to know by now that we have a few screws loose. Though I will admit this is unusual behavior for me.
Something about her closing the door and putting that barrier between us didn’t sit right with me.
“It wasn’t a request, Zela. The rehearsal is only days away, and you don’t own a single dress. So we’re going to go and get you something nice to wear so that you don’t ruin this for our parents.”
It’s a low blow; I know it, and so does she, given the flinch.
As much as she might despise us, she loves her father, and I’m pretty sure she loves our mother, too.
What’s not to love? She’s a wonderful woman, and despite my reservations about Patrick and his interest in her at the start of their relationship, it’s impossible to deny they really do love each other.
Mother deserves this, and I won’t let anyone ruin it for her, not even my soon-to-be sister.
She chews her lip, and I can see her considering her next move, her mind going through all the options as if she has a choice.
“I can take the bus…” she blinks a few times, trailing off before she glares up at me. “How do you know I don’t own a dress?” She demands, finally catching what I said.
“Lucky guess.” I brush off her question and watch her jaw tick.
It’s a lie; I know it, and I’d bet she does too, but she can’t really prove it. Anyone who knows her would assume she doesn’t own a dress, with the way she dresses.
That’s the point after all.
We stand staring at one another, neither willing to back down, at a stalemate of sorts, but I’m a patient man.
“Ugh! Fine, give me ten minutes.”
“Five,” I counter because I can, and again my cock throbs when she bares her teeth at me and honestly growls in annoyance.
“I fucking hate you.”
“The feeling is completely mutual, I assure you. Now move your ass. The clock is ticking, and I’m wasting enough time on you as it is, Zela.”
Her name tastes like a sin, and I curse my brother to the lowest ring of hell for sending me to do this as I pry my fingers from the doorframe and allow her to close it.
I have no doubt this shopping trip will test me in more ways than one.
The drive to the shop is only about twenty minutes, yet it feels like much more with Zela beside me. She’s wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt that are probably four sizes too big on her, a beanie, a lot like my own, pulled low over her head, and a pair of chunky old headphones over it.
She looks homeless, or at the very least, like she lives in the worst parts of town with the squatters.
So what the fuck does it say about me that I can’t seem to keep myself from glancing her way every few seconds?
Being beside her is unsettling in all the worst ways. I’d much rather take Tank to buy a fucking dress than this.
Maybe it’s because I know what’s underneath those clothes she tries to use as armor?
If only that were it; I’d rather cut my own tongue out than admit it aloud, but I’d been captivated with her from the moment she walked out the back door the day she crashed into our lives.
“Why are we here? I can’t afford this.” Our quiet ride is interrupted by her snap of annoyance, and I roll my eyes because we both know she can, though it would probably put a nice dent in her funds. “Just take me to the mall, Isaac.”
The venom in the way she says my name shouldn’t be attractive, but clearly, my brain doesn’t actually understand what that’s supposed to mean.
“Would it be so terrible for you to simply shut up and take the gift as what it is?” I snap as I pull up in front of the shop and park.
“It’s not a gift,” she argues, turning to glare at me, and I watch the way her eyes shine when she looks at me.
Nobody looks at us like that, talks to us like this.
It’s intoxicating.
“A gift is something you give someone without expectations or strings attached. This is going to be dangled over me for the rest of for fucking ever!” She throws her hands in the air and huffs in annoyance, and all I can do is watch her, a smile pulling at my lips.
Her eyes flick down, tracing the shape of my mouth. I can’t help it—or maybe I don’t want to. I dart my tongue out, licking my bottom lip before I sink my teeth into it, holding her gaze the entire time.
This is dangerous; she’s dangerous.
“What if I told you it was one hundred percent a gift from me? I won’t ever hold it over your head, and I won’t let my brothers either.” Her eyes snap up to meet mine again, and I half expect her to seem embarrassed or annoyed that she was caught, but she seems completely unfazed.
She stares at me, searching my eyes for something, before she seems to finally give in. I’m not sure if she found it or simply gave up, but it doesn’t much matter so long as she listens.
“Fine, but you better be telling the fucking truth,” she grumbles as she unbuckles and throws the door open. Seemingly having had enough of me and whatever this is.
“Are you going to stab me if I’m not?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I mentally berate myself.
What the fuck is this? I don’t joke and play; Jace does enough of that for all of us. So why does she make me want to?
I move out of the car, catching her wince and look around, but she doesn’t seem to regret what she did, or even shocked that I know.
“He deserved that,” she tells me, pointing at me as if she thinks I might defend him.
“He did.” I nod.
I won’t defend him. I would applaud her if only she hadn’t done the opposite of what she’d hoped. Most would think that stabbing someone would keep them away, or at the very least, teach them boundaries.
Not Jace.
All she did was make sure she had his full attention.
I watch her brows pinch at my admission before I turn and head into the shop, leaving her to follow.