My confusion grows when Nesti discloses, “I’ve been trying to reach Vaughn the past few weeks. He’s yet to return my calls.”
That’s not like Vaughn. He’s very family-oriented.
“What about Papa? He’d know where Vaughn is.”
I picture UncleNesti shaking his shaggy blond locks when a whoosh sounds through my ears. “I haven’t spoken to your father in years. He’s angry at me for what happened to your mother.”
“He’s angry at everyone.”
I didn’t mean to voice my opinion out loud, but I’m glad I couldn’t hold back. It feels good to express feelings that have been festering for over a decade. I only wish I had more time to get everything off my chest.
“Do you have your phone? Perhaps he’ll talk to me.”
When Uncle Nesti hands me his phone, it stabs into my erratically panting chest. “Sorry.”
While nursing my battered breast with one hand, I dial a number known by heart with my other. The ache in my chest burrows deep when Vaughn’s phone rings and rings. He doesn’t answer our home phone either. It is as if he vanished right along with me last month.
Knowing I don’t have long before Asher returns, I open up the notes app on Uncle Nesti’s phone. “This is the location of a safe house my father told Vaughn and me to use in case of an emergency. It’s probably old and rundown, but if Vaughn is hiding, this is where he’d go.”
Uncle Nesti’s breaths are as fast as mine, his worry just as high. “If I find him, how can I get word to you?”
I don’t want him arriving at the Yurys unannounced, that’s just asking for trouble, but I don’t want to be left in the dark either.
“Here, hold this.” I thrust his phone into his hand before angling the screen so it faces the slit in my dress. The label sewn into the waistband of my gown isn’t one I’ve seen before, and Asher hinted it was custom made, so it’s the perfect way for Uncle Nesti to reach me without putting himself in danger. “If you find out anything, ask my dressmaker to contact me. Pretend I’m interested in having them design my wedding dress—”
“Wedding dress?!” His high tone pierces my ears. “You’re getting married?”
“Neither of us will be doing anything if you don’t shut up and listen.” I don’t mean to snap at him, but I don’t have time to be nice either. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume everything is fine.”
“And if it’s not?”
My words shake when I begin to speak. “Then I’ll somehow meet you at the safehouse.”
I tear at the label in the waistband of my dress when the frantic stomp of feet return down the hallway. I can hear Asher’s breaths as he slots his master key into the lock. I’m a mere second from being busted when the quickest rip of material frees me from the panic engulfing me.
After shoving the satin label into my uncle’s hand, I use the phone to illuminate the shelf, snatch a box of Tampax from it, then dart for the door. I push it open a mere second before Asher throws it open. Loose strands of hair are sticking to my sweaty temples, and my pulse is buzzing in my neck, but I play it cool. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“What were you doing in there, Zariah?”
When Asher peers past my shoulder, seeking Uncle Nesti hiding in the shadows, I step into the hallway, closing the door behind me. “I asked Lenin to fetch my purse before I remembered our quick exit didn’t give me time to pack it like I usually would. With the dispenser empty, I figured I’d check the supply closet.” I wiggle the commercial-sized box of tampons in his face. “Looks like my efforts were worthwhile.”
He steps closer, crowding me against the door with his large, brooding frame. “Then why are you sweating?”
I’ve never been quick-witted, but I have all the moves tonight. “The door shut behind me. I didn’t realize it was self-locking. Thank goodness you arrived when you did. I was panicked out of my mind. You know how much I hate the dark.”
The anger in his eyes softens from my confession. Not enough to keep him from looking like he’s about to go on a rampage, but enough I can slip under his arm and dart into the ladies’ room without further interrogation.
Chapter 20
Asher
Ijerk my chin up, demanding that one of my men follow Zariah into the bathroom while I enter the storage closet she just fled. What she said is true; she is scared of the dark, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I know there’s more to her wide eyes and pasty face than she’s letting on. I’m also seconds from going on a rampage. Panic is ravaging my veins, making me the most unhinged I’ve ever been.
I shouldn’t have brought Zariah here tonight. It was a stupid, impulsive thing for me to do. Seeing her shivering in fear has me backtracking on every decision I’ve ever made—not just tonight, but years ago as well. She was barely out of my sight for five minutes, but I’m being hammered with the same set of emotions I faced when Dominique was killed.
Rage is boiling in my blood, and I know the perfect person to take it out on. Someone’s about to die, but to make it more fun, I’m going to do it with my fists instead of my gun.
My plan for vengeance is snared when I enter the storage closet only to face nothing but reams of toilet paper and cleaning products. If it weren’t for a cold breeze ghosting across my face, I would have believed Zariah’s claims she was in here for feminine products.
