“I won’t miss it for the world.”
Getting to my feet, I shoot a last glance at the bushes on the other side of the parking before I follow my sister-in-law to the tables next to the pizza ovens where the kids are rolling out their dough.
God, I really am paranoid. Perhaps I do need help.
Maxime isn’t going to find me. I’m being too careful.
Lina is right. It’s time to move on, or I’ll never be free. At least not truly free.
“You know what?” I say as we dodge a child racing around the mini track in a plastic jeep. “A date sounds like a good idea.”
Chapter 5
Maxime
Standing in front of my open study window, I take in the view. It’s a beautiful late April day, sunny and clear. There’s a bite in the spring air. I don’t mind it. I like the cold. I like the heat, too. I like all the seasons. I like them because of what this house represents. Home.
It’s what I wanted for Zoe, why I gave her the apartment. I only wanted her to have a place of her own where she could feel safe, happy, and relaxed. Since she ran, I had a lot of time to think. I had a lot of time to figure out where I’d gone wrong. I thought reading her needs and meeting every one of them was enough to trap her in my carefully designed web of psychological warfare. Making her fall for me had seemed like the perfect answer at the time. Like my oversight with the one thing she wants more than anything—love—I didn’t take her sense of right and wrong into consideration. Zoe isn’t the kind of woman who can be swayed with gifts or money. My material weapons are useless. She’s immune to them. Not to my charm, but that specific weapon has backfired on me. Falling in love with me seems to have hurt her more than bringing her happiness. She needs love and honor. She needs everything I don’t stand for.
No matter. She’s mine forever. I’m bringing her back, if it’s the last thing I do. It’s going to hurt her. Badly. For that, I deserve this punishment I’m bringing upon myself. It’s going to be hell to bear, but I’ll suffer it gladly. It’s only fair. It’s the only way I can stand hurting her—if I hurt more. Sometimes this all-consuming obsession feels like a vicious circle of never-ending pain. I can never regret finding her. I can never regret the feelings she awoke in my dead heart, not even the blinding pain.
The front door opens and shuts with a bang. Footsteps echo in the foyer and fall louder as they approach the study. I don’t need to turn to know to who the lazy gait belongs. Lazy is nothing but an imitation of confidence, a disguise for a lack of self-assurance. Anyway, I expected him.
Alexis stops next to me, close enough for our shoulders to brush. From the corner of my eye, I see his smirk. He’s staring at me like an eager child, unable to contain his ugly excitement.
I don’t acknowledge him. I continue to take in the view, to remember the moments I loved here most, all of them ironically involving Zoe.
Breaking first, he asks, “How does it feel?”
I turn away from the beauty of the ocean framed by the cliffs. Alexis only taints its perfection with his presence. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Fantastic. Best cunt I’ve ever had.”
I raise a brow. “Does she know how you speak about her? Her honor isn’t mine to defend, but I’m sure her menfolk will take up the task.”
There are two kinds of hatred. The cold kind that fills you with loathing but leaves you unaffected, and the heated kind that devours your soul and eats you up from the inside. When I look at my brother, it’s winter I feel. Cold. The hatred burning in his eyes, on the other hand, is the heated kind. It makes him the loser, always, even when he wins.
“You know they’ll kill you if you hurt her, right?” I ask with growing amusement as his face distorts with the realization of how powerless he is against me. A person only has power over you if you give it to them. To give it to them, you have to care, and I don’t give a shit.
“I’m going to crush you,” he says through clenched teeth, “and I’m going to love every minute of it.”
For a second, I almost pity him. Alexis has always resented me for my first-born rights. He’s undermined me whenever he could. For as long as he’s lived, he’s crawled on his knees and kissed my father’s ass. He’s always hated me, but since I punished him for torturing the prostitutes under his protection, he wanted to destroy me. After making him and his torture buddy fuck each other’s asses while whipping them to shreds, it’s become his life mission.
Good luck to him. It’s not that easy to get rid of a bad weed. Weeds grow tougher than cultured garden plants and flowers.
Sauntering to the wet bar with his fake confidence, he pours my favorite whiskey and carries the glass back to me. Swirling it under my nose, he grins, then takes a sip before flopping down in the chair behind the desk.
“I assume you’re all packed.” He glances at the door as he speaks. “Bring me a souvenir from South Africa, will you?”
I follow his gaze. Izabella stands in the door, wearing a long-sleeved dress and high heels with stockings, the image of cultured refinement. The perfect wife. Her dark eyes rest accusingly on me. She follows my movement as I cross the floor. When I reach her, I stop and wait. She steps aside without a word. I don’t look at her as I push past her. I carry on straight, walking through the front door without sparing either of them another glance.
Chapter 6
Zoe
Urgh.
The evening was a disaster. My poor date. He’s a nice guy, not bad-looking either, but I decided to be honest with him over a too-sweet fishbowl cocktail we shared at News Café in Sandton. When I told him I was on the rebound, he paid his portion of the bill and left me there alone with a fishbowl full of fluorescent alcohol and two soggy paper straws. Thank goodness I insisted on driving there in my own car instead of letting him pick me up. At least I had a ride home.
It’s only nine when I arrive at my complex. At the security gate, I type in my pin to open the gate, and then scan my thumbprint to lift the boom. An armed guard nods from the guardhouse. I give him a friendly wave. The extra security measures almost all the complexes in the area have to combat robberies give me a feeling of safety. Damian had a security slam-gate fitted in front of my door and fortified bars in front of all my windows as well as under the roof. He wasn’t taking any chances. My little fortress is safe. With the alarm, there’s zero possibility of anyone getting in.
Just in case, I fold my hand around the pepper spray in my bag when I park. A high wall with electrified barbwire on the top surrounds the complex. Spray lights illuminate the parking and the dark corners. Being attacked by someone lurking in the bushes is a very small probability. Still, I scan the grounds and look over my shoulder.
I lived in Brixton before, a suburb a lot more dangerous than Fourways, yet I’d never been this paranoid in Brixton. This constant state of alertness is the price I pay for being kidnapped and smuggled abroad, all in the name of diamonds. Once upon a time when I was young and naïve and had dreams, I wanted a man to put a pretty ring with a shiny stone on my finger. Now I hate those stones for what they represent. Crushed dreams. Greed and ugly truths.