AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He leers at me, surprising a laugh out of me.
Multiple facets of personalities dwell inside him: the arrogant lover, the cold businessman, the child, the father. Underneath it all, the one constant that lurks is something dark, a cold, vicious thing that he conceals so well but he can’t manage to hide it from me.
It pleases me that he has trouble keeping his mask on when I am around as if I am the siren’s call to his darkness. It makes me possessive, and these feelings bother me.
Despite all that happened, a part of me is still resisting Zayn and although he is chipping away bit by bit with each touch, each kiss, I am holding steadfast to it.
I can’t help it.
“So, what’s the plan?”
The slow smile that forms on Zayn’s face makes me wish I hadn’t asked.
Twenty minutes later as we push through the doors of the hospital, I think I never felt so drained in my life.
“Tell me how this is a good idea again?” I hiss at Zayn who still has his arm around my waist.
A satisfied look on his face. “If we’re open about this, they have no story. Stories are found under the rocks. All we have to do is climb out from under it.”
“But Mila—” I begin, and he gives me a look.
“We won’t reveal that till we’re ready, till you’re ready. Let them make their own assumptions.”
We just took a few steps when I hear the shuttering click of a camera.
A portly man steps from a filing cabinet next to the nurses’ station.
“Mr. Wolfe, do give me a smile,” a soft accent says, something European.
I freeze at the familiar face. It takes me a few heartbeats to figure out where I saw him before.
When it hits me, I see red, rage flowing through me like something alive, twisting, curling, demanding blood at how gleeful this thing looked while Lorraine was near death’s door.
“You bastard!” I would have jumped on him if Zayn didn’t clasp a firm arm around my waist, preventing me from attacking.
“Now, now, darling,” Zayn’s lips brush the edge of my ear, his breath hot against me. “Too many witnesses.”
The fact that he is actually serious shocks me enough that some of the anger fades from my mind, enough that I am able to take stock of my surroundings.
“Mr. Donavon, I presume.” Zayn sounds so calm, his tone so pleasant, that if I hadn’t known him so well, I would have missed the cruel menace that coats his tone.
At this moment, he sounds so much like Elijah that I wonder if Zayn knows how many similarities he shares with his father.
His arm is like a steel band around me, and I am pressed tightly against him, my back to his chest. Anybody watching would see an overly affectionate couple.
Frank Mueller Donavon looks thrilled, however, and he immediately lifts his camera and snaps a picture of us, making me stiffen.
Zayn doesn’t seem bothered.
Frank lowers the camera and gives Zayn an assessing look. “You know my name.”
Zayn’s hand opens, wrapped possessively around
my hip, and he almost purrs. “You seem to know so much about me; it would be rude if I didn’t make the effort to get to know you. You’re quite a celebrity in your own circles.”
Seeing Frank preen under the carefully constructed words, it amazes me how he is unable to register the lethal undercurrent of venom in Zayn’s voice.
“You read my articles?” The reporter almost looks puppyish, an expression of hope and excitement on his face.
