“Excuse me? Our drinks?” one of the ladies calls. I motion with my head for Tracey to get a move on, and after throwing Zachary one last longing look, she strolls toward the customers.
The minute she is out of earshot, I snap at the unwanted guest, “What do you want?” His brow rises at my tone, but I don’t give a shit. “If you want to apologize, I don’t accept nor do I want your sorries. Now would you please, for God’s sake, leave!” I hiss the last part, breathing heavily and flipping my hair back from my forehead, all fired up, but for a brief second, I notice the amusement flashing in his gaze before he covers it up with indifference.
“That’s good, because I didn’t come to offer those. I will never apologize.” There is an odd tone lacing his voice, but it’s not what makes my jaw almost hit the floor.
But before making a judgment, I clarify, “You don’t think you should apologize to me?” After everything he has done to me, what he cost me… he doesn’t think he needs to at least say sorry?
How delusional and self-centered do you have to be for that?
“I said I won’t. I never said I don’t think.”
I frown, confused at this explanation, because doesn’t it mean the same thing?
Shaking my head, I exhale heavily, wishing for my shift to be over so I can go home and crawl under the blanket away from Zachary King. I think that’s the only place he won’t ever try to bother me.
After all, a man like him won’t be interested in getting between the sheets with me.
I shiver in disgust at the thought, either the idea of it so repelling after what he has done to me… or maybe because my body doesn’t care and reacts to his male energy.
And I don’t beat myself up much for it. A physical reaction is nothing but female hormones responding to a man’s testosterone. I will never act on it, and besides, all it will take to stop reacting to him in any way is a hookup.
The last time I engaged in one of those, it wasn’t hard to find a willing partner.
However, life doesn’t grant me my wish, and in this I have to deal with Zachary and his wants. Maybe once I do, he will disappear and stop bothering me. “What do you want then?”
He flicks the lighter on and off, focusing his gaze on the fire for the split second before looking back at me. “Cooperation.”
“Cooperation,” I repeat like an idiot, not understanding what he means by that.
“Yeah,” he says and then fetches the bottle again and doesn’t even bother to find a glass. He just drinks right from the spout while at the same time dropping a few hundred-dollar bills on the counter. “That should cover everything.” He takes a large sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing and bringing attention to the pale tattoo gracing his neck I just noticed. It’s barely a whisper, as if someone created it with washed-out ink.
Scrunching my eyes, I try to read it, but it’s too small to make any sense to me, so I mentally slap myself and come back to the topic at hand. “Don’t you want to elaborate on the whole cooperation thing?” I smile at a passing customer who motions for a refill of his drink, and I quickly grab a glass to make a rum and soda. Mixing it together till the ice is crushed inside, I add a bit of lemon juice and place it on the counter.
“I want to catch the son of a bitch who killed my wife.”
I pause at the sound of Zachary’s voice, shocked with the amount of pain these words still hold and how his grip on the bottle tightens so much I’m afraid it might break in his hand.
“The man who awakened the side of me I’ll never be proud of.” He glues his stare to me, taking another sip. “The side that was vicious enough to destroy you.”
The air hitches in my throat; sweat breaks on my skin as the memories threaten to open up. It’s a Pandora’s box that should always be closed. I won’t be able to survive it again.
Forcefully pushing the lid back on the box, I mentally remove myself from the agony and focus on Zachary, for the first time hearing self-mockery from him.
I believed such perfect and powerful men were incapable of feeling it.
What’s with these guys and them sharing everything in a crowded bar anyway?
Taking a deep breath, I will myself to forget for a moment that this is the man responsible for all my hardships in prison and my baby’s death, and instead think of him as a man who lost his beloved wife.
His grief was so strong… he wanted an outlet for his pain. Keeping it all inside probably would have killed him. When I got an easy sentence, according to him, he decided to dish out his own twisted justice, so his victim would suffer and suffer until he broke her.
Try as I might though, I can understand it, but I can never forgive it.
In my mind, he is a cruel monster with no redeeming qualities, yet strangely his behavior is at least explainable. If he hadn’t arranged for the beating that killed my child, I probably wouldn’t hate him so much.
After all, he wasn’t my husband or my friend or even my colleague, right?
Clearing my throat, I push the words that are meaningless in their nature but bring comfort to some. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He hangs his head, his knuckles drumming on the counter, and then he looks at me, his stare, it seems, drilling a hole in me with its passion. “I’ll catch him if it’s the last thing I do in this world.” He finishes the speech, slapping the bottle harshly on the counter, and points at me. “And for that, I need you.”
Of course, I should have expected that.
I’ll no longer be the source of his rage, because he has found another object, and he won’t rest until he finds him or her. “I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about him. And to be honest? I want to forget it like a bad dream.” None of it is true. I do want to catch this guy, but I’m not naïve enough to think I can accomplish such a task.
For the second time in my life, I decide justice and the law should handle this situation, believing that this time around, they won’t make any mistakes.
“And that’s where you are wrong.”
Glancing at the clock, I see I have one more hour left of my shift. Herb informed me after the guys left that I better get home early after my first shift, and I welcomed it. But now even that hour seems like forever with Zachary talking about revenge.
Or rather digging a knife into an old wound.
“I won’t cooperate with you.”
He slides the bottle to the side, leans closer on the counter to me, so his breath is fanning my cheek, and asks me with amusement coating his tone, “Are you sure about that, darling?”
“Yes. And I’m not your darling.” I try to step away but gasp when he fists the front of my shirt, dragging me closer to him. The lower counter of the bar digs into my middle as my face comes so close to his that we’re only inches apart, my heart beating wildly in my chest, and I don’t want to breathe, as it will mingle with his.
“I have a lot to offer to those who work with me.” He tightens his hold on me, his eyes trained on me as if he seeks to catch any change in my expression and study me under a microscope.
Wrapping my hands around his and gripping so hard I hope it brings him pain, I snatch it away from him and tell him, “You have nothing to offer me that I might find interesting. Don’t ever touch me again.” Adjusting my shirt, I point at the door. “Now leave and forget about me. Good luck on your quest. I’ll be happy if you accomplish it. Then I can breathe easy. But until then, stay away from my life.” I finish, panting for breath, my body still rocking with anger and electricity from his nearness that shakes me in a way I can’t explain.