Page 62 of Barinov

Ezekiel Malik… fuck!

Ezekiel Malik Blackwood.

“Ok,” I grit, breathing through the sting in my neck and doing my best to slow my racing pulse. “Let’s say they give me the ring. What happens when Marisol runs off and tells them all your little plan?”

“Let her.” He waves a lazy hand. “One less poem for us to write.”

I stare at him, blood roaring in my ears. “Can I say goodbye to Izzy first?”

“Make it quick,” he says with a sick little wink. “Clock’s ticking, baby.”

♥♥♥

BELLA

Day 14 in Eden.

“Morning sis,” Zeke says, balancing a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast with jelly in one hand and a cup of milk in the other. “I made you some breakfast. Sorry, we didn’t have anything to make pancakes.”

“That’s okay,” I say as I sit up against the pillows, brushing the hair out of my face. “It looks great, thanks.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed and stares off at the floor.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, fork halfway to my mouth.

“Nothing.”

“Zeke.”

He finally looks at me. “I have to leave for a little bit.”

“What?” I lock my knees, a sudden chill washes over me as my body goes stiff. “Why?”

“Luca’s sending me on an errand,” he says, rubbing his neck.

“What kind of errand? And where’s your collar?”

He looks away, the silence stretching thin between us. “I’ll tell you later. I promise.”

My brows pinch. “Nope. Tell me now.”

“Look, I don’t have much time,” he says, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket. “There’s something you should know.”

“What is that?” I ask as he sits it down next to me.

“The truth,” he says, tears filling the corners of his eyes. “I told you that I wasn’t here alone, Bells. That I had someone helping me get through it all.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“It was your Aunt Claire.”

“Impossible,” I whisper. Then cough, choking on a bite. “She’s been dead for over three—”

“No,” he cuts me off, his shoulders slumping. “She was missing for over three years. Bells she was—”

“Let’s go, Zeke.” The voice cuts in sharp and slick as oil.

I jerk my head toward the doorway, nearly getting whiplash when a familiar, short, smug man with silver-dusted black hair steps into my room.