I’m met with only silence. The door doesn’t open, and I hear no footsteps in the hall. I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do if I actually get him in here, but I have to try.
“Zaid?”
I think I hear a shuffle outside of the room, and sure enough, the door clicks open a second later. I do my best to shift my mindset, to remind myself of the way I used to think of this man—to see him as that person instead of as a dangerous enemy. I have to, if I’m going to pull off the role I need to play.
My pulse races when his green gaze settles on my prone body. Unconsciously, I strain my wrists against the ties.
I swallow, forcing the words past my throat and trying to sound as pitiful as possible. It doesn’t take much effort. “I… I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Looks like you’ll have to piss on the bed, kitten.”
He turns on his heels to leave, and panic surges inside me. I can’t let him walk through that door. If he leaves the room, my chance to escape goes with him. I have to keep him here. I have to convince him to untie these fucking ropes.
“Zaid.”
He pauses. Turns around. Good. I need to keep him here. Keep him interested.
“Don’t leave.” My voice is husky. It takes all my willpower to force myself to make the request, as if the words are dragged up from the depths of my soul.
“Why not?”
“I don’t… I don’t want to be alone.” The words come easier this time. They’re true, in a way. I don’t want to be alone. My spiraling thoughts are terrifying, and the longer I’m left on my own with them, the deeper panic takes root.
Something flits across Zaid’s expression. I can’t quite tell what it is, but he takes another step closer to the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want, Grace? A bedtime story?”
I can see him hardening himself against me, resisting the pull of the history between us. Pretending I’m a stranger, someone he doesn’t know at all. I did the same thing with the four of them, distancing myself as a means of self-preservation. But right now, I need to break down those walls.
“What happened to you all?” I ask softly, letting out the question that’s been hovering in my mind ever since I recognized who they were in the van. “You’ve changed so much. What happened?”
He snorts, his lips turning up in a humorless smile. “Life happened, kitten. That’s all.”
“Not everybody’s life changes them like this.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Has yours?”
“I…” I swallow. I don’t want to tell him anything about myself or what the past six years have been like. But I’ve got him talking. His posture has relaxed a little. And I know if I don’t give him anything, this conversation will end quickly. He’ll turn on his heel and walk right back out the door.
“Yes. Not like yours changed you, but… yes. Since we left Chicago, everything has been different. I left behind everything I knew, the world I was used to. The people I cared about.”
Zaid’s green eyes seem to darken, and he tugs his lower lip between his teeth. “What? You mean you didn’t love your life as the perfect little Stepford wife?”
Irritation flares inside me, but I push it down. “I wasn’t a Stepford wife. I wasn’t even married yet.”
He makes a noise in his throat, taking another step forward and sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze still locked on mine. “To that fuckin’ cop.”
“Yes.” I don’t try to deny it. Of course they know what Brian does for a living.
He shakes his head. “Grace Weston, married to a cop. Never thought I’d see that day.”
“We aren’t married yet.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that.”
Something in his voice makes a prickle of awareness move over my skin. Or maybe it’s the way he hasn’t stopped looking at me since he came into the room. Like he’s gone six years without the sight of me, and now that I’m in front of him again, his greedy eyes are trying to make up for lost time.
He’s looking at me like he never wants to look away.
That thought makes my stomach flip over, and my heart thuds a little harder as I shift on the mattress, tugging lightly at the binds on my wrists. “Zaid? I really do need to pee.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, kitten. We’ll give you a chance to take care of business in a bit. But Hale’s orders are to keep you tied up.”
“Do you do everything he tells you to?”
Zaid’s eyes snap up. Whatever softness I saw in them a moment ago, it’s gone, and I curse my big fucking mouth and my quick tongue for ruining whatever rapport we were developing.
“Yeah. I do. Because he’s the son of Damian Novak, the head of our syndicate, and he’s my fucking commander. Or did you forget how shit works in the mafia?”
“I’m sorry.” I bite my lip, looking away. “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that the boy I knew back then was… kinder.” I let my gaze slide back to his, let myself look into his vibrant green eyes. Eyes I was once so entranced by. “That Zaid wouldn’t have taken pleasure in hurting me.”
“You think I take pleasure in this?” He leans back a little, looking around the room. “I fucking don’t. But that’s not the point.” He blows out another breath. “And I don’t want to hurt you, Grace.”
My heart cracks at the honesty I hear in his voice, but I remind myself it doesn’t matter. He could just be a good fucking liar, and even if he’s telling the truth, it doesn’t change the facts. And the fact is he will hurt me if he has to, whether he enjoys it or not.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I just dip my head in a small nod. “I understand.”
He snorts. “Nah, I’m sure you don’t. I don’t even understand this fucking mess right now, so I don’t see how you could.”
He rises from the bed, but then he hesitates, his gaze flicking up to my wrists where they’re bound to the headboard. Hale tied the ropes tight, and I can feel the binds squeezing against my flesh. I’m sure my wrists are raw and chafed.
“Does that hurt?” Zaid asks suddenly.
I nod, my heart leaping in my chest.
“Fuck,” he mutters. Then he shakes his head, like he’s answering a question he asked himself. “Well, I can at least make sure it’s not cutting off your damn circulation.”
He kneels on the mattress like Hale did earlier, reaching over me to check the ropes binding my wrists. He tugs on them a little, not loosening the knots but adjusting the way they lie so that they don’t pinch as badly. I hold perfectly still, hardly even daring to breathe as he works.
This could be my chance. If he just shifts the ropes a little more, maybe I can squeeze my hands out of the bindings.
I try to focus, to be ready to run or fight if I have to. But I’m distracted, consumed by the sheer presence of him. His fingertips brush over the skin of my wrist, an accidental touch that sends shivers into my palm and down my arm.
Maybe he can see me shudder. Or maybe he can feel it. Because he stops moving suddenly as his eyes drag back to mine.
His gaze lingers, hands above us at the ties. For a moment, everything seems to stop, as if the entire world is holding its breath.