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He’s running his hand through his hair, and I feel as though he’s mentally pacing up and down as he thinks about the information Axel shared.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, knowing that there are only two real options of what to do with him now. One of which I’m not even sure I can pull off, but I’ll damn well try, if not for Axel, then at least for Eva and their unborn child.
“I’m thinking about all the ways I can cut that fucker up.”
I know he’s not lying. I can see it clear as day on his face. “But?” I question. The fact he hasn’t already done so means there’s a definite but.
“But I don’t fucking know, Rox.”
“I have a suggestion. It’s not going to be a popular one with you and definitely not with Maddox, but it’s an option.”
“Let me guess, you want to put them in police protection or some similar shit, right?” he says disdainfully.
“Maybe don’t let the distaste in your words drip so colourfully next time, but, yeah, it’s a possibility.”
He steps toward me as I lean against the counter. “Maddox will never go for it. And I can’t say I’m that keen either.”
“And why’s that, Zak?” I ask, folding my arms across my body. I’m not sure if it’s to protect myself from his proximity and alluring eyes, scent, body, hell, the whole package, or if it’s purely to demonstrate my dislike of him questioning a system that’s been my life.
He takes another step forward, invading my personal space, which seems to be something him and Maddox enjoy a little too much. “Because it’s bullshit. The police can’t protect people from the likes of Laskin and Bonner and Rogers. Your precious police force is as corrupt as the rest of the governing institutions in this world, Rox.”
“Does that little list include you and Maddox too, Zak? Are there people that need protection from you? Do you have a cop in your pocket who is willing to sacrifice his oath and integrity to save his own skin and line his pockets with blood money?” I can’t help the edge of anger that comes out in my words.
“Nobody can protect you from us, Rox, not even yourself. If we have you in our sights, there isn’t a force on this earth that can keep you safe.” He steps right into me, so we are almost touching but not quite.
I don’t think he’s talking about other people anymore. I get the feeling his words are solely for my benefit, and it sends a tendril of fear and pleasure surging through me.
I promised I wouldn’t allow them to pull me in, that I would keep my distance and harden myself to this magic and energetic pull they seem to have over me, but it’s not working very fucking well because I just can’t seem to stop it.
My mouth opens and words pour from it before my brain can catch up. “Why are you doing this, Zak? What did I do to you and Maddox that was so bad you’d tear up my life like this, huh?” There’s a flicker of remorse that’s gone as quick as it appeared. Even after all these years he still struggles to conceal his feelings fully.
“There are a lot of things you’ve done, Rox, and things you don’t know, but none—” His phone rings, cutting him off. I silently pray that he’ll ignore it and finish what he was telling me, but when he pulls it free and sees who’s calling, he steps away without a second thought.
I watch as he walks off down the hall, passing Maria as she enters the kitchen.
“Would you like tea, Miss Whitmore?” she asks as she fills the kettle.
“Er…it’s Roxy, and tea would be great, thanks.” She nods, pulling down two cups from the cupboard. I watch absentmindedly as she drops a teabag in each cup and adds milk just as the kettle boils.
I don’t really understand how she can act so damn normal when just a few hours ago Maddox was in here screaming about a shipment of charlie and threatening to rip someone’s tongue out. They have cells in their cellar, and I’m certain the irony hasn’t gone unnoticed, where they are holding a guy, a so-called friend, who has taken one hell of a beating and bears the word rat on his skin. How is this considered normal?
A soft chink sounds behind me, and I turn to see Maria has placed my tea on the counter.
“Thank you,” I say, drawing my tea closer toward me so that I can wrap my hands around it. They are suddenly cold. It’s a perfect parallel to the cold feeling I’ve had in the pit of my stomach for the last two and bit weeks.
“You’ll get used to it,” Maria states as she brings her own tea over and takes a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar the other side to me. “I certainly never expected my life to be filled with death and destruction when I married my husband all those years ago. It’s funny what you get used to when you have no choice, and when you love someone, of course. That changes everything.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how you ever get used to this.”
“No need to be sorry, dear, it is what it is. What you need to remember is that many of us never asked for this life, never wanted or even imagined it. That’s the funny thing about life though, isn’t it? Things rarely turn out how you want them to.”
“It doesn’t bother you? Because it sure as hell bothers me. My whole life has been about protecting those who find themselves in situations just like this, in this world, and whilst I’m not naive, I…”
“Have you ever considered that you’re protecting the wrong people, Roxy?” I go to interrupt, not in the slightest bit impressed with her question. “I know that’s a difficult thing to consider, but those men, Maddox and Zak, they have had very little choice in the things they have done, have endured, in the time you’ve been gone. I know who you are, Roxy, and I know you’re not so naive as to think so black and white. Remember where you came from before you became who you are.” With that, she picks up her tea and leaves the kitchen, giving me no chance to respond.
I’m a little unsure how to take being schooled by a woman old enough to be my mother. I’d be lying if I said that’s what irritates me the most about that whole conversation. It’s not. The fact her words are now flying around inside my mind like some uncaged bird pecking away at the worms of truth buried beneath years of rhetoric and conditioning makes me uneasy.
I don’t like that she read me so well, questioned my morals and integrity, but what I hate more is the idea that everything she said has even a grain of truth.
