Bad time doesn’t even cover it. I shrug out of my torn suit jacket—it smells of smoke and the iron tang of blood. “I would give it a couple of days, man. Sloane’s just as fucked up as we are right now.”
Rebel sighs. “Okay, fine. We have our deal with Julio tomorrow. I’m supposed to hand over my files to him. Shit’s definitely gonna go down. Can you be there?”
I scrunch up my face, trying to think of a way of politely telling him to go get fucked. Instead I find myself saying, “If Zee or Sloane don’t need me, I’m your man.”
“Sure? I don’t want you if your head’s not in the right place.” By in the right place, he means in the killing zone. And I am most definitely there. “Don’t you worry about my head, Rebel. I’ll let you know in the morning if I’m in.” I already know I will be, though. I need to punch something. I need to fight. Zee and I are very similar in that beating the crap out of something generally makes us feel better, but this is more than that. This is an unquenchable need that won’t be satisfied until I’ve caused someone severe bodily harm. It doesn’t matter that I killed Sammy when he came to try and kill me. It doesn’t matter that I killed O’Shannessey, plus those other two guys who showed up out of nowhere. I’m still wound with fury. I’m going to have to use my bare hands in order to release it. I’m going to have to rain carnage down onto the heads of those who pose a threat to us, because I can’t go through this again. Fuck knows what would happen if Sloane died. It doesn’t even bear thinking about. There would be no way of stopping Zee. He would murder everyone he could get his hands on whether they were involved or not, and he wouldn’t care if he got sent down for it. It would be worth it for him. Hell, he would have done the same for Lacey had I not have already killed O’Shannessey before the boss realized what was happening.
I will never, never forget the look on his face when he saw Lacey fall.
I hang up the phone, wondering if Julio Perez is going to die tomorrow, too.
******
I’m so lost. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Ever since we arrived back at the apartment, Zeth’s been sitting in an armchair, staring out the window that overlooks the city, and I haven’t been able to get a word out of him. Not that I’ve tried to. I know he needs to be alone; I can tell that just by the edge to the atmosphere in the room, but I don’t know if I should leave. I could go and sleep in Michael’s apartment, but I somehow don’t know if that’s a good idea either. I think…I think something terrible will happen if I leave him alone.
I decide to stay. I can handle the tension in the room. I can handle it, because I love this man and abandoning him now, even if it’s what he thinks he wants, is the wrong thing to do.
I sit on the vast leather couch across the other side of the room, just listening to the silence. How would Pippa deal with this situation? How would my dad? Pip’s trained in grief counseling, and my father has an abundant supply of compassion that always serves him well when trying to comfort others. He just always knows the right thing to say.
The answer to my worrying and wondering comes in the most surprising of forms. Ernie. The Schnauzer’s claws make soft clicking sounds as he appears from one of the back bedrooms. His huge brown eyes travel over me briefly as he approaches us, but it’s not me he heads for. He heads straight for Zeth. The dog pushes his small body between Zeth’s legs and then he bumps Zeth’s hands with his wet nose.
It doesn’t look like Zeth even knows Ernie’s there. He just lets the dog rest his head on his leg, which seems to please Ernie immensely. He huffs out a shallow breath and shuffles in closer, so he’s as close as he can physically get without actually climbing up into Zeth’s lap. After a while, Zeth starts absently stroking the tips of his fingers against Ernie’s head, and the dog goes to sleep.
Eventually I fall asleep, too. It’s not the physical stress that’s exhausted me. It’s the crying, like I’ve cried out my entire energy reserve for a year and now my body is demanding rest. My dreams are quick and dark, and mercifully empty.
In the morning, I wake up in bed, stripped down to my underwear. The sheets are almost black from the filth that’s rubbed off my body. I find Zeth in exactly the same position he was in when I passed out on the sofa, Ernie now curled up at his feet. He must have moved at some point though, since I sure as hell didn’t put myself to bed, and he also looks like he’s had a shower at some point.
“Zeth?”
He’s awake. He glances over his shoulder, and I see the briefly unguarded pain in his bleary eyes. “Hey,” he whispers. “You should sleep some more.” The sun is just rising over the city, though the cloud cover casts a cold light over everything, making it blue and gray and sad.
“Have you slept at all?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t need to.”