To find an answer, all he has to do is look in the mirror. “Are you all right?” His thumb slides over my skin before he cups my cheek, tilting my head back to examine my face. “You’re—”
“Fine,” I say, slapping his hand away and stepping back from the embrace he is about to force on us. “I’m fine. Besides, the headache always starts when you’re present. Go figure.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You know they say we get headaches when we experience extreme anger or rage and don’t let it out. So the body starts attacking itself.” He leans closer and removes the lock of hair from my face and places it behind my ear. “So who inspired such emotions?”
Leaning back, I huff in exasperation. “And what’s this theory? Some oriental or psychological medicine?” Sarcasm laces my voice, even though I agree with him to a point. As the study of the mind has shown me, sometimes our physical pain can be a result of the experienced stress in life that affects us so much we don’t know how to deal with it.
“Oh no,” Zachary whispers dramatically, putting his splayed palm above his heart, and sighs. “You’re one of those doctors who denies any other studies and looks down on everyone else.”
“Yeah, alert the media,” I throw at him and wince again when pain settles on my scalp, sending prickles of hurt all over my skin as if thousands of needles are injected into me all at once. “What do you want? Let’s cut it short, shall we?” Thankfully, I’ve managed to put some of the tips from yesterday in my pocket so I have enough cash to catch a cab back home, but I don’t know if it’s a wise idea.
I hate staying with Zachary at his mansion, giving my tormentor power in my life again and essentially sending a message to the unsub that I’m a coward who will hide behind anyone and anything to stay away from him. His ego will take a hit; of that, I’m sure.
On the other hand, what if Zach is right, and he might attack me, or worse kidnap me, to use in some agenda involving Emmaline?
At the thought of the precious little girl being hurt, my heart pangs painfully and consumes my mind, almost making it seem like Zachary’s idea to stick together doesn’t sound so bad.
In fact, it has a lot of merit and advantages.
But I hate it.
Didn’t stop you from fucking him last night.
The tiny voice in my head is ruthless, not letting me hide from what transpired between us, and that’s the problem.
I’m not sure that if we stay in close proximity to each other the wild sex won’t happen again. Unfortunately for me, the pull between us exists on an animalistic level that has nothing to do with emotions and, in this, makes me almost hopeless against it.
“Phoenix!” Leiken shouts from behind me, and Zachary looks over my shoulder, his brows furrowing before recognition settles on his features, which doesn’t surprise me.
The man probably knows everything about my life, down to my shoe size or what I had for breakfast.
“So that’s why you have a headache,” he whispers and then opens the car door, ordering, “Get inside. If you don’t want to talk to your ex-friend who is running toward us right now, I suggest you listen to me.”
I love all these choices life gives me, each one crappier than the other, and without saying another word, I hop inside as Zachary closes the door and walks around it to take his own seat, locking the doors with the click of the button just as Leiken catches up with us, banging on the window and shouting, “Phoenix, please listen to me!”
My hands fist on my lap and I scrunch my eyes, not wanting to hear her voice that brings me back to the lowest time of my life. “Drive,” I whisper to Zachary, and he does, the car instantly roaring to life and driving off with such speed it’s probably illegal.
As we get farther and farther away from the hospital, tension slips from me, and I rest my head on the window, thinking about how my life has gotten really complicated.
Because whatever trouble I encounter… the devil always comes to the rescue.
And somehow in such moments, his hell seems like a good place to be. At least there, everyone is honest.
Compared to the saints—the people who wear their beautiful masks, only to show their true nature the minute you screw up.
They say saints are always attracted to sinners, craving to step over the line to the dark side and feed their curiosity about sinners who enjoy every pleasure this world has to offer.
But what do you do when you are a sinner yourself?
Zachary
The minute we step inside the restaurant, I see several heads turning in our direction with their jaws hanging open. There are scattered murmurs echoing in the luxurious space rising above the classical music coming from the speakers in the ceiling.
Phoenix looks around, her eyes widening slightly as she studies the environment, and I wonder if Sebastian ever brought her to places like this.
He was never wealthy by my standard, but he has money, so the doors to all the exclusive joints must have been open for them.
Then again, by the beast roaring inside me, I prefer not to think what Phoenix did and didn’t do with her ex-husband.
“The owner went all-out on this one,” she says and then blinks. “My God, is that chandelier made out of diamonds?”
“Expensive crystal, but according to a legend, sure, these are diamonds,” I tease her, trying to see the establishment through a newcomer’s perspective.
It has beige furniture scattered all around the perimeter of the rectangular space on the roof of the building. Pink vases holding tulips sit atop the round tables, which are surrounded by four chairs.
A glass covering serves as the roof of the place, allowing for streams of sunshine to brighten up the place, making it almost glow and giving it a sophisticated look from an earlier century when such designs graced every luxurious house.
The waitstaff wear black and white uniforms with leather shoes that are soundless on the parquet, not disturbing the customers with their constant clicks as they run around delivering all the orders.
One of them, the one who usually serves my table whenever I decide to come here, sees me from far away and waves, rushing toward me before anyone else can show us to a table.
Usually, you have to have a reservation weeks in advance to get inside; it’s always packed with people no matter the day or the hour. Besides, the restaurant is not that big. The enclosed space creates an even bigger sense of urgency, because people’s desire to get in is even greater as they feel special and important by snagging a table.
This restaurant is all about brilliant marketing. I should know, since I invested millions when one of the owners came to me with a proposition.
“Mr. King,” Betty greets me and then shifts her gaze to Phoenix for a brief second, surprise flashing there, but she quickly schools her features. After all, I’ve never brought a woman here before, besides my wife. “I’m so happy to see you again. Please come in. Your table is free as always.”
Phoenix’s brows rise at this, but she doesn’t say anything. Walking behind me as we pass by all the onlookers, I don’t miss a few quickly taken photos before we sit at our table. From the right corner, the view opens up to the city panorama, showcasing the magnificence and beauty of it all, and being so high up, we almost seem to be floating in the air.