Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ALL THE THINGS SHE SAID
HAZEL
Zack is on high alert, and I can’t help but feel like this is somehow my fault. I can feel him hiding things from me, and I don’t like it.
“What is it, Zack?” I look to him, truly trying to just get anything out of him, but I can tell he’s trying to protect me again and I can’t deal with this crap.
I’m not breakable, and I’m not some fragile flower that he’s making me out to be.
I can tell the false sense of security settles over the room as soon as he looks at me like whatever he’s going to say is going to break me.
Then it hits me, and I can tell something’s different the moment he sits down next to me, phone still in his hand, shoulders tight in a way I recognize now as focus instead of fear.
The kind that means a piece finally clicked into place, even if it isn’t a comfortable one.
I’m sitting at the small table with a mug of tea gone cold between my palms, watching the safe house window like I expect answers to appear there on their own.
“Philly,” he says finally.
I look up. “Philadelphia?”
He nods. “That’s where Cameron and Leyla were headed before they went dark. Lincoln just confirmed it. Every thread we missed bends east.”
Something in my chest tightens—not panic, not this time, but recognition. “They weren’t running,” I say slowly. “They were closing in.”
Zack’s jaw flexes. “Yeah.”
The word hangs between us, heavy with implication. Cameron and Leyla weren’t victims of random violence or collateral damage in someone else’s game. They were getting close. Close enough that someone decided silence was safer than risk.
“And while we thought they were dead,” I add quietly, “someone else made their move.”
Zack meets my eyes, and I see it there—the same realization settling in him at the same moment it settles in me. The timing. The precision. The way my kidnapping happened not during chaos, but during certainty.
“We were distracted,” he says. “Fed bad conclusions and was encouraged to stop looking. This was planned out.”
“We didn’t just miss something,” I reply. “We were steered.”
The word tastes bitter, but it feels right.
I push back from the table and stand, pacing slowly as the pieces rearrange themselves in my head.
Philly isn’t random. Philly is proximity—to systems, to people, to information that doesn’t want to stay buried.
Cameron and Leyla didn’t disappear because they failed.
They disappeared because they succeeded, so what exactly was it that they found?
It’s up to me now—well up to us now—to find Cameron and Leyla, to find The Whispering Killer, and trap them in their own game before it’s too late for them, for real this time.
“So when do we head out?” My words are more confident than they’ve been in a really long time, and for the first time in a long while, I’m confident that we’re on the right path this time. I hate that we wasted weeks on the wrong one.
“Tomorrow morning. They won’t know we’re coming this time, there’s no way, and we’re going to stay ahead of them now.”
“Tomorrow morning. Okay, okay yeah, I can absolutely work with this. They were close enough to scare someone,” I say. “And instead of stopping them directly, that someone widened the board, and we just walked into their trap.”
Zack nods once. “Took you to get my attention off the real threat.”
I stop pacing and look at him. “And it worked.”
For a moment, there’s silence—not the dangerous kind, but the kind where both of us are recalibrating. I expect the old fear to creep in, the sense that I should step back, let him handle it, but it doesn’t come. What I feel instead is sharp, focused resolve.
“They think we’re still behind,” I say. “They think the worst of it already happened. They clearly don’t understand who we are, what we’re capable of.”
Zack’s mouth curves into something grim. “They thought they could use you against me to distract me. They know we’re together, and they think that you’re close enough to be a distraction.”
“They’re wrong,” I say immediately. “I wasn’t the end of the message. I was a delay— the distraction. I just don’t understand, I really don’t understand why me.”
That gets his attention. He watches me carefully now, not protective, not dismissive—evaluating. “What are you thinking in that beautiful head of yours?”
“That Philly matters now,” I reply, trying to not let that little slip of a compliment distract me from the truth here. “If Cameron and Leyla were close there, then whatever scared The Whispering Killer enough to take them is still there. Or connected to whatever is there?”
“And whoever took you wanted us nowhere near it,” he finishes.
“Exactly.”
The realization settles fully then, solid and undeniable. We weren’t just chasing the wrong trail—we were intentionally pushed away from the right one. The kidnapping wasn’t meant to destroy me. It was meant to stall him.
I straighten, meeting Zack’s gaze without hesitation. “This time,” I say, “we don’t let them dictate the pace.”
He nods slowly. “This time, we will go where they didn’t want us to.”
“Philly,” I confirm.
Zack exhales, something like grim satisfaction cutting through the tension. “Next time,” he says, “we don’t assume silence means the story’s over.”
I feel something steady and fierce settle into place.
“They got to make one mistake,” I say quietly. “They don’t get another.”
Zack reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, a moment of softness just for me. I nod.
And this time, we know exactly which direction the truth is running. The silence in the house settles around us, and I can see the exhaustion settling around Zack. All of this makes me realize that this whole time I’ve been in the mindset that this is all about me.
“Zack, when’s the last time you slept?” My voice is gentle, caring, real, and I watch as he tries to quickly act all tough and mature, but I don’t need that right now.
“Doesn’t matter. You look tired though, go get some sleep, sweetheart.” That pet name hits different this time. I know we’ve slept together, but this songlike way he just said makes me realize that things aren’t the same, and I don’t ever want them to change.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” I say, keeping my voice light even though my heart picks up just a little. “If you don’t want to.”
His brow creases. “Hazel—”
“I’m not asking because I’m scared,” I cut in gently. “I just…don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The words hang there, honest and uncomplicated.
He studies my face, searching for something; hesitation, uncertainty, regret? I don’t give him any of that. What I feel is calm and grounded. Certain in a way I haven’t been since before everything went wrong.
“If you’re okay with it,” I add. “I trust you, Zack. And I know this isn’t the best timing, but it’s okay to want things for yourself. It’s okay to allow things for yourself.”
A long beat passes, a world of pain flashing over his beautifully broken face that I would give my life for at this point.
Then he nods. “Okay.”
We settle into the bed without ceremony, space between us at first, both of us careful, respectful.
The mattress dips as he lies down, and the simple presence of another person in the room eases something tight in my chest. After a minute, I shift closer, resting my head against his shoulder, testing the boundary.
His arm comes around me slowly, deliberately, like he’s giving me time to change my mind.
I don’t. I breathe him in instead—soap, leather, something steady—and let my eyes close.
“Tomorrow,” I murmur into the quiet, “we go east.”
“Tomorrow,” he agrees softly, his hand gently rubbing up and down my back in a way that feels sensual and real. His hand dips lower, inside the hem of my pajama pants. I let out a gasp as his hand slips lower into my panties.
“Is this okay?” Zack’s voice is low and dangerous, his silver eyes swimming like quicksilver in the light of the moon.
I open my mouth and whimper, not at all ladylike or what’s been expected of me my whole life.
“I need words, my sunshine girl.”
“S-Sunshine girl?” I nod as I process the pet name, and he plunges a finger into my slick folds.
“Sunshine— bright and present constantly, but even when you’re not there, I just know you’re not going ” suddenly, a second finger is in me and I let out a scream, “—and don’t let anything get to them, it’s beautiful and warm.
.and it reminds me of you.” It’s in that moment his hand flies to my throat.
He puts pressure on it where I have such a barrage of overstimulating actions happening all at one, I begin to see stars.
I can’t even think as this man finger fucks me over and over again, reaching places I didn’t even know could be humanly reached by another person.
“Oh—Oh God, Zack—” I whimper as his ministrations fill me in a way that I didn’t think possible. I feel him everywhere, my body buzzing with this anticipation, this pleasure that I feel building at the base of my spine, and a wanton moan slips out of me.
“Give me more, sweetheart. Give me those noises.” Zack’s grin is devilish and he grins in a way that should be considered illegal. His other hand lets go of my throat and reaches down to my breasts. He squeezes, which makes me whimper. “God baby, you’re squeezing me so tight. You like that, huh?”
“O-oh fuck, Zack…I’m gonna—I’m gonna.” My voice is barely above a whisper as his voice settles through me. He knows my body like no man or woman ever has before to me.
“Fall for me baby, let go.” Zack curls his fingers as my walls clench around him. My back arches as the pleasure flows through my entire body, and he keeps moving as I ride out my orgasm.
I throw my head back as the aftershock of what I can only describe as the best orgasm I have ever had settles. I’m a sweaty, panting mess, and he just smirks as he pulls his fingers out of me.
“That was by far the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, daisy. You…you’ve done it again, you know.” His voice is barely audible over my panting. My vision still somewhat blurry, but I look down to his lap where a dark patch sits square around his crotch.
“Did you?” I bite my lip, feeling way more proud of myself than I probably should.
“Come in my pants like a prepubescent teenager? Yeah, sweetheart, you’re gon’ be the death of me yet.
I ain’t mad ‘bout it, either.” Zack’s dimples make an appearance.
He laughs softly, shaking his head, and then everything slows.
Zack reaches for me like it’s instinct, like taking care of me afterward is just as natural as breathing.
He grabs a towel from the edge of the bed and moves with a tenderness that makes my chest ache more than anything else tonight.
He cleans me up carefully, murmuring little reassurances under his breath, thumbs warm and steady, making sure I’m comfortable before anything else matters.
“Hey,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You good?”
I nod, still a little floaty, still riding the echo of it all. He helps me sit up, wraps the blanket around my shoulders, and pulls me into his chest. I fit there like I’ve always belonged, my head tucked under his chin, his hand tracing slow, absent circles along my arm.
We stay like that for a while. No rush. No pressure. Just breathing each other in.
Eventually, he chuckles softly. “You hungry?”
I tilt my head back to look at him. “Always.”
That earns me a grin, the kind that feels like home.
We pull on clothes—comfortable ones—and wander into the kitchen together.
This place is becoming a safe haven for us, a place where we feel connected to each other, still brushing shoulders, still touching without thinking.
Zack opens the fridge, surveying what we’ve got like it’s a serious mission.
“I’m makin’ you real food,” he announces. “None of that sad, emergency-snack nonsense.”
I lean against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen with the same confidence he has everywhere else. He pulls out ingredients, already talking through it as he goes. “My mama used to make this when we needed somethin’ solid. Southern comfort food. Fixes most things.”
I end up beside him, chopping while he mans the stove, music low in the background, laughter slipping in between easy conversation. He steals a taste, then pretends not to notice when I steal one back. At one point he nudges my hip with his, mock-serious. “You’re fired if you burn that.”
“Yes, chef,” I say, grinning.
Dinner comes together warm, and simple, and perfect, the kitchen filled with good smells and the kind of quiet happiness that sneaks up on you when you’re not looking for it. We sit at the small table, knees touching, eating and laughing like the world isn’t heavy for once.
And tonight, while I’m wrapped in warmth, fed, safe, and held by someone that I think I’m truly starting to think is just more than some random tattooed biker. I for once feel comfortable, and it doesn’t feel like a fleeting moment.