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I spun around as my hands balled into fists. “You will do no such thing,” I snapped, each word laced with hatred. Spittle flew from my mouth, but I didn’t give a fuck. This guy was out of his damned mind.
“The orders are from Donovan. I don’t have a choice. You can make this easy for both of us, or we can do it the hard way.” Zayne remained still in the doorway, most likely hoping I would allow him to do his job. “He thinks you’re suicidal again. It’s why I’m here.”
“So you’re violating my privacy even more for what exactly?” My tone was sharp, accusatory.
“Pills or anything that you could use to inflict harm on yourself.” Zayne’s voice wavered, appearing unsure for a moment.
Anger pulsated through me, and my nostrils flared as I sat on my king-sized bed, rumpling the lilac duvet. I folded my arms over my chest and glowered. If I refused, Donovan would discipline me, and I wasn’t interested in experiencing his way of handling situations that made him unhappy.
“Fine. Hurry up.” I snapped at him.
I watched Zayne as he searched the bathroom first, removing any bottles with a prescription label that he found. There were only a couple—Xanax and muscle relaxers. He pocketed both containers, and I released a loud groan, scrambling for a plausible lie. “What am I going to use when my anxiety is off the charts? The muscle relaxers are for after intense dance workouts. There are maybe five pills left between the two of them. Look for yourself. My doctor keeps me on a tight leash, so I don’t have the ability to overdose again.” If he only knew the truth behind those prescriptions, he would be offering to get me more.
Zayne fished out the bottles and read the label indicating the medication was only for a few pills at a time. I also had to call the doctor’s office for a refill, which meant he monitored how often I needed the meds.
He grunted his acknowledgment, then shoved them in his pocket again. “I’ll let Donovan know.”
I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to say a word. Donovan already knew, but if it made Zayne feel like he was doing his job, fine. It wasn’t about the medication anyway. It was Donovan’s reminder that his reach was far and wide, and whether he was with me or not, he controlled my every move.
Zayne continued to search every nook and cranny available: my dresser and nightstand, under the mattress, the closet, even my shoe boxes. It took him well over an hour to investigate my room. He removed everything with care and respect, then put it back in its proper place. He wasn’t being a total dick and throwing shit on my floor for me to clean up later, like Donovan had so often before.
As I watched him, I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d learned to be so thorough. Even if he hadn’t meant to share his feelings, I caught a glimpse of sadness in his gaze as he did his job. Everyone had darkness in their past, and I was pondering what he was hiding from the world. Once I’d shut up about him being in my space and started paying attention to him beyond his job title, I pondered what Zayne’s secret was and questioned if he was trying to run from something. Maybe we weren’t so different after all.
My curiosity quickly flipped to irritation at his presence, though, then a fit of intense anger roared up inside me. Memories of my last attempt to end my life flooded my thoughts. The vodka and the pills, the music from the party. Staggering down the hall to the bathroom and distrusting that my plan had worked, only to ultimately see a gorgeous man with green eyes before I dropped to the floor. If he’d left me alone, I wouldn’t still be living in hell and praying to a God I doubted even existed. Damn him.
Before I could catch myself, I blurted out what I’d wanted to say to Zayne the second he’d strolled into my home.
“I fucking hate you,” I said through clenched teeth. “I fucking hate you for saving my life.”
6
Zayne
My military training had molded me into a man that rarely showed emotions. Truthfully, I’d morphed into that guy right after … I slowed my trip down memory lane and focused on what Giselle had said.
I understood she was fucking pissed that Donovan had me search her room. I would’ve been, too, but suicide wasn’t a laughing matter. I was exiting her walk-in closet, which was half the size of her large bedroom, when the corner of her lip curled into an unfriendly smile, and the words meant to cut me filled the air.
She hated me for saving her.
That was fucked up on too many levels.
“I’m sure you do hate me. You’ll probably hate me even more soon. There’s nothing I can do about it.” I shoved my hands through my hair, wanting to apologize for invading her space, but I knew she would mistake it as a sign of weakness.
She stood and glowered at me. “You don’t care why at all, do you?” Giselle approached, her jaw tense and her hazel eyes blazing. God, she was beautiful. Rude, arrogant, and condescending, but breathtakingly beautiful.
“It won’t change anything.”
“It will makemefeel better. The night you saved me … you think you did me a favor.” She barked out a spiteful laugh. “All you did was send me back to a foul, disgusting life. So, if you have a hero complex and want to swoop in and save me from killing myself again, then by all means, give it your best shot. You. Won’t. Win.”
I quickly learned that this petite ballerina was strong-willed, but regardless of her words, she was my responsibility. I’d fucked up before, and the situation had nearly broken me. Unable to run from the pain, I ran to the military instead. In some ways, being an Army Ranger saved my life. In other ways, it nearly finished me off. Pierce and Vaughn had rescued me from precisely what Giselle had tried—suicide. If she were bound and determined to succeed, she would, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do to stop her, but I could make it more difficult.
What I didn’t understand was why she wanted to die. What was driving her to end everything? Was her brother hurting her even more when I wasn’t around or was what I’d already witnessed the extent of it, and he was a dominating punk with an ego problem?
“I realize this is none of my business, but I hope you’re in therapy.”Bold move, dude.As soon as I spoke, I wondered if there were cameras in Giselle’s bedroom as well as other areas of the house. She’d said there wasn’t one in her dance studio, but I didn’t trust Donovan. Considering how controlling he was of her, I wouldn’t be surprised if every space in the mansion was bugged, and I doubted she would be aware of it if he had installed one.
Giselle snorted. “You’re right. It’s absolutely none of your business.” She turned her back on me, then scooped her phone off the dark-colored nightstand. As impressive as the size of her bedroom was, there were no personal items anywhere—no pictures of her with friends or family, no artwork on the walls, not a single glimpse into her life. It was cold and empty, just like I assumed she had felt when she’d attempted suicide.
“How long did you dance?” I stood in the doorway, attempting to allow her some space yet learn more about her, trying to soften her stance toward me a little.
