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“Did you ask her?” Stalin says quietly.
“No, it’s not really the kind of thing you just come out with.” My steps slow, and I lift to my toes and stand quietly in the hallway.
“What the fuck have you been doing all this time.” He scoffs. Callan doesn't answer, but Stalin adds, “I get you want to get your dick wet, but surely this is more important,” he spits.
“Of course it is. She opened up about her past but never mentioned a file,” Callan mutters irritably.
“Well, our intelligence remains confident that the Russians want this file. I have reason to believe she doesn’t even know she has it, but it’s why they have kept her alive all this time. She’s blind to the power she has to take them down. If anything, she is aiding them and doesn't even realise it.” What the fuck!
“You’re right. It’s what I have thought too,” Callan responds thoughtfully. “I need to tread carefully, Stalin. I can’t just make demands. Zara’s fragile at the moment.”
“The Russians are closing in. We don’t have time for this. Isabella doesn’t have time for this.Sheis fragile. Isabella is not fucking Zara.” Stalin growls out my name as though I’m a hindrance. A spoilt brat.
“Don’t assume I don't know that,” Callan spits in a menacing tone. “Isabella iseverythingto me. This whole thing has been about Isabella and getting Isabella back. You know how much I love her. She is my fucking world, nothing, and no one will ever mean more to me than getting her back.” He sighs heavily. “But, Zara… I need to be careful. One wrong move, and she will flee.” I flinch and drop my head. Shame fills me. My gut aches with a bone churning fury as I try to hold in my tears. I want to scream at the pain filling me. He told me he loved me to win my trust back. Me leaving really fucked with his plans.
“She must have some of her father’s old things. That file is somewhere,” Stalin grinds out.
“We’ve turned her house over more than once. It isn’t there,” Callan mutters, irritated. So that's why he was always in my house. It never looked out of place. He is a master of his art. I’m sick to my stomach. A fool. This was never about me—it was about Isabella. I twist on my foot and rush back to his room, gathering up my phone and a pair of trainers. The rest he can burn. I slip on my shoes and head back down the hall. I honestly hate him in this instant. I’ve never felt so used and interchangeable in all my life. I’m shaking, my body overcome with emotion, but what worries me is how violent I feel. I want to tear this place apart and rid him of the world. My rage is tangible.
“We need it. What if it’s the key to Isabella?” They’re talking about the file, the file I have no idea about, a file that has both kept me alive, and the Russians apparently safe from exposure.
“Stalin, I fucking know. Every minute I give Zara is another I’m taking from Isabella, and it fucking kills me, but I need to be clever.” I walk with purpose down the hall, quiet and quick, and as soon as I come into view, I go into a sprint. Both men’s heads come up in surprise. They look at each other, equally disturbed I have overheard them.
“ZARA!” Callan hollers, but I’m already in the elevator, the doors whooshing shut as his panicked face fills the gap.
“Go to hell, you piece of shit!” I scream. It’s the longest ride ever, and I anticipate either one or both men to be waiting at the bottom for me, but it’s empty. I race out into the car park and run as fast as I can out into central London. It’s a hive of activity, and I stick my hand out for a taxi, jumping in as I hear the tail end of Callan’s voice calling for me from back inside the underground car park. The door shuts, and I sink down into the seat, pulling my phone to my ear. I don’t need Oscar right now. I just want him, but his phone rings and rings. On a short yell, I disconnect the call and drop my head into my hands.
After a brief few strained moments, the driver says gruffly, “Where to?”
“Just keep driving around,” I say quietly.
“Sure thing. Music?”
I shrug. I couldn't care less if he picked up a burlesque dancer to keep me occupied. My thoughts are racing, and my phone is going mad. I lift it, wanting Oscar’s name to appear, but it’s his: Callan’s. I reject the call and try Oscar again. I’m angered that he doesn’t answer—he always answers.
Callan’s name flashes up once more. I reject it, and I’m almost ready to throw it out the moving vehicle when Oscar’s name comes up.
“Oh, thank god, I need to see you.”
“Oh. Sure, yeah.” His voice sounds off, and I pull back and frown at the screen.
“Has Callan been in contact? Don't tell him I’ve called you,” I sniff.
“No, I won’t, he hasn’t,” he assures, clearing his throat.
“Can I see you?” I’m crying openly now. “Where are you?” I sniff.
It’s a beat before he answers, and he sounds resigned. “At Chloe’s, you have her address, right?”
“Yes, see you soon.” I hang up and sniffle, avoiding the driver’s eye when I give Chloe’s address. We’re driving for a good twenty minutes before the driver sidles up to the kerb, and I use my phone to pay.
“Thanks,” I throw carelessly over my shoulder as I exit, slamming the door shut as I jog towards Chloe’s place. The curtains are drawn. I know they only just got back from another few days away, but it’s mid-morning. Checking over my shoulder for Callan, I’m relieved to find he isn’t anywhere. I take the steps in a quick jog and knock on the door. I’m waiting a while and, in my emotional impatience, decide to knock again when I finally hear footsteps on the other side. The door opens slowly, and I’m looking down a dimly lit hall. Oscar’s hand is on the door, so I step in.
“Sorry to just come round like this, but—”
The door shuts on a loud bang, and I scream. Oscar’s eyes are red-rimmed. His face is a picture of guilt and fear because behind him, right behind him, is my worst nightmare. The man from my every waking thought, every sleep-deprived night, every rip-curling scream I’ve jerked awake to.
I try to grab the door, but he yanks at my hair and kicks Oscar, who is sobbing as he says over and over, “I’m sorry.” An angular grim face grins down at me, teeth: ugly and smoke-stained. Oh god, oh god!
