Then he tugs on my hand, but I’ve had enough of this shit and finally free myself from his hold, stumbling back and almost hitting the railing of the stairs with my hip. “I’ll go with you, but stop acting like I’m a dog on a leash,” I grit out through my teeth, quiet as possible, because the last thing I need right now is his daughter waking up.
I don’t want to see her, ever.
She will be a breathing and walking reminder of what I lost and her father took away from me. I’m not sure I will be able to control my reaction at seeing her.
“Fair enough,” he says and goes in the opposite direction, to the left while I follow, not missing how the walls on the second floor have different paintings entirely.
Here, they were done by a child, drawn on simple paper with colorful pencils, each having a little girl on it doing something.
From dancing to eating to watching a cartoon.
My gaze trails over all of them as Zachary leads the way, and despite my reservations, a smile curves my mouth when I see how in each one of them, the girl adds a huge smile at the right corner, leaving her unique signature like all famous artists do. The whole composition is finished with the drawing of her holding hands with a male figure, Zach, as they both smile brightly in the image, and there is even a note.
Clearly, it was not written by a child, since the grammar and handwriting is too skilled for a three-year-old.
To Daddy from his little princess: Happy Birthday!
Love and kisses!
Emmaline Katherine King
Whatever monster he is to the outside world, it must not transfer to his loved ones, at least since his child loves him so much.
Although it’s hard for me to imagine ever loving a man like him.
“Phoenix,” he calls, and I realize I stopped in my tracks. I spot him standing next to double doors as he opens them up and motions with his head for me to enter.
I quickly reach him and step inside as he turns on the light. I frown when the harshness of the chandelier above blinds me for a second, blurring my vision, but then I finally adjust to it, looking around me.
I’m not sure what I expected to find inside here, taking into consideration the earlier decor, but the room has only one king-sized bed and a nightstand with a lamp on it.
The only color present in this bare place is black—the sheets, the furniture. Besides that… it’s lifeless.
There are two more doors, bathroom and the closet probably, while the black and white curtains billow around the open french doors leading to the balcony, allowing fresh air to slip inside.
With no heater in sight, the night awaiting me will be cold.
Going farther into the room, I notice a nightgown lying on the bed along with lingerie and slippers, so is it a guest room?
Zachary answers my silent question. “I ordered it to be prepared for you. We haven’t used the room, so I figured you’d prefer the cold air rather than inhaling dust.”
“How thoughtful you are,” I say sarcastically, folding my arms and turning to face him. “Careful, Zachary, or my heart might beat faster.”
“I don’t mind.”
My brows furrow at this odd statement. What the hell does that mean? But I shake my head, deciding not to focus on stupid shit and zero my attention in on what’s important.
“If you brought me here, you must have a plan.”
“I do, but it’s late.”
“I want to hear it and check on Rafe.” Although the wounds are not life threatening, he’ll still have to stay in the hospital for a couple days until they run more tests on him.
Zachary nods and then points at one of the doors. “You will find anything you need in there.” Then he takes out something from his pocket and throws it on the bed where it bounces a few times before flashing, and I realize it’s a smartphone. “My and Lydia’s numbers are already programmed in there. I thought you might want to have connection with the outside world. Maybe call someone?”
I pick it up and extend my hand to him. “I don’t need it. I have my own, and besides, I have no one to call.” Try as I might, I can’t keep the bitterness out of my tone, and I hate myself for it. This is not how I want to spend the rest of my life. In resentment toward those who hurt me and not trust anyone. Second chances are given to us for a reason. Shouldn’t I use them then, instead of dwelling on the past?
At least I will do my best once we catch this unsub obsessed with us.
Zachary chuckles, finding something super amusing in my reply, and strolls to the door, not even looking in my direction. “Accept my phone, Phoenix. There are battles worth fighting for, and this is not it.” He cracks opens the door, his fingers on the handle as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Trust me on that.”
“I can never trust you, Zachary,” I tell him, finding this whole situation ridiculous, but he only shrugs, unfazed about my feelings.
As if I should’ve expected anything but.
“Too bad. Because in this current hell we’re living in, I’m the only person you can trust.”
“Why?”
“Because our lives are on the line. We should protect each other at all costs, don’t you think?” With this bomb, he shuts the door behind him while I drop onto the edge of the bed, exhaling heavily.
What did you get yourself into, Phoenix?
Did I really just agree to stay at the devil’s playground, ready to deal with him in his domain no matter the consequences?
What’s worse is… that I feel so empty inside. I’m afraid there will come a time when I won’t even hate him anymore.
Love and hate share the same amplitude of emotional charge, so maybe that’s why it’s so easy to cross those invisible lines.
However, they have one more thing in common too.
As long as you love or hate someone, you are forever attached to them in a way that you are never truly free.
Your thoughts, your choices, your joy and sadness belong to them as they depend on them.
Sebastian no longer has that power; I let go of him on that hospital bed.
Zachary though…
My hate burns so strongly inside me one might mistake it for passion that demands an outcome transforming into lust.
Lust that has no boundaries, common sense, or morals, and it won’t do.
I will break these manacles wrapped around my wrists that chain me to the monster, freeing myself from his dungeon so that he won’t ever get a part of me again.
Zachary King.
My greatest nightmare and ironically the only ally I have right now who can help me end this hell that I’ve been living in for four years.
Zachary
The ice clacks inside the glass as I pour myself another shot of whiskey and go back to the chair in my office on the first floor. The owls hoot in the distance, alerting me to the late hour, not that I give a fuck about it.
Taking a larger sip, I let the liquid burn my throat while it travels through me, warming me from the blasting wind coming from an open window.
I pick up several folders on my desk with all the employees I’ve fired in the last five years, flipping through them but not finding anything that sticks out.
Usually, I don’t have any drama attached to such cases; the policy is really easy. If your work is excellent and serves the company’s purpose, you are set for life along with several bonuses. However, just one screw-up will make you pack your stuff, get your month’s-worth of salary, and then get the fuck out of my company, because nothing short of excellent will do for me.