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31
Present Day
The limo pulls up outside a large, gated site that from the outside looks little more than an industrial estate, but given the heavy duty security and the rows and rows of expensive cars already parked inside, appearances aren’t as they seem.
“Where are we?” I ask Zayn, who’s been broody and silent for the last five minutes.
Ignoring my question, he taps on the glass divider between him and the driver. “Pull up around back, Grim is meeting us there.”
“Sure thing, Scar,” the driver agrees before the glass divider slides back in place.
“Grim?” I question. The name is vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“She’s the owner of this fight club and well respected. Don’t piss her off,” Zane responds, leaning over and opening a hidden draw beneath the seat.
“Why would I piss her off…” I begin, only to lose my train of thought when I notice what he has in his hands, a red mask. The exact same one I wore when we were kids.
“Why have you got that?” I ask as Zayn places the mask in my lap. I’ve not seen this for three goddamn years, and it brings back way too many memories, most of them unhappy given the way the night went. My gaze snaps up to meet his.
“You’re going to need to wear that.”
“Where did you find it?” I ask him. Has he kept hold of it all this time? More importantly, why is he asking me to put it on now? What the fuck is going on?
“Put it on,” he repeats.
“Why?” I croak, my voice quivering with past memories, many that he has no knowledge of.
“Put the damn mask on, Pen,” he orders darkly, pulling out another mask from the draw. This one isn’t made of plastic like mine, but is a full head mask, with a space cut out for the eyes and mouth. It resembles a balaclava but looks like it’s made out of some kind of thin, silky material. He pulls it over his face, adjusting it until it sits exactly right. Then he grabs a pair of leather gloves, pulling them on too.
“Are we about to rob a bank or something?” I joke.
“Not today, no,” he responds dryly, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
When I’m too shocked to do anything but stare at him, Zayn shifts towards me, grabs the mask from my lap and secures it over my face, making sure the strap is pulled tight around my head. His gloved covered fingers gently run over the length of my hair, adjusting the strands so that they fall over my cleavage. It’s a surprisingly gentle act, but not as surprising as the words he whispers into my ear next.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too,” he mutters, his breath a warm caress against my cheek.
I should be relieved by his words, but something about the tone of his voice and the finality of his apology makes me nervous.
For just a second, he leans his head against the side of mine and I can feel the heat of his body through his clothes. It takes everything in me not to throw my arms around him and forget we’re no longer friends. Instead, I reach for his hand, my fingers brushing against his. I expect him to pull away. Instead, he captures my fingers within his grasp and squeezes them gently, the pad of his thumb running over my knuckles.
“Pen…” he starts, staring into my eyes, searching for something. His onyx eyes bleed with unanswered questions, muddying our past and the friendship we once shared.
“I’ve missed you, Zayn,” I whisper, hoping he hears the sincerity in my voice and sees the truth of that statement in my gaze.
It’s a truth that I can no longer hold in. I’ve missed him so fucking much. Maybe it’s stupid to admit how I feel. Maybe I’m reading into this silent conversation way more than I should be. Maybe I’m just a fool, but I can’t seem to help myself.
“Fuck, Pen,” he mutters, and just like that the animosity I’ve felt between us falls away and we’re left with a momentary stalemate. Right at this moment, we’re just two old friends who aren’t sure how to move forward with all the bad blood between us, but maybe, just maybe, are willing to try. Then the car stops moving and the bubble around us bursts.
“We’ve run out of time. Fuck!” he exclaims. His eyes are wild, fearful.
“What is it?” I question, feeding off his fear.
“Follow my lead. Do not question my actions and for fuck sake don’t call me Zayn,” he says quickly.
“What do you mean don’t call you…?” but the door to the limo is pulled open and he jerks away from me, leaving my question unanswered and a sick feeling in my stomach.
With no other choice but to follow him, I step out of the limo. Outside the air is surprisingly cool for a September evening, and I wish, not for the first time, that I’d chosen something far less revealing to wear. Keeping on Jeb’s good side is essential though, so I follow the rules like I always have because all I care about is keeping David the fuck where he is.
