She dressed in a hurried daze, fumbling on jeans and tugging a t-shirt over the cami. This wasn't happening. If she chased Zach away, how long would it be before someone found her body? Or worse, found her house empty?
Would he try to kidnap her? Her skin grew clammy, and a tremor shook her legs. “I can't go outside. You'll have to shoot me first.” Either way, she wouldn't survive.
“I'll be right in here.” He stalked to the closet and gripped the door, with the gun trained on her. “If you fuck this up, if Zachary shows a hint of suspicion, I'll shoot him. Sit on the bed.”
How had she not seen this coming when she met him? She'd let this man into her house, for fucksake. Such a stupid, stupid girl. She deserved this. She wiped at the copious sweat clinging to her face and arms, her ramping heart rate thrashing pinpricks through her head.
Breathing deeply, over and over, she sat on the bed and prepared to drive away the only person she had in her life.
Van faded within the shadow of the closet, leaving the door open a sliver, with a line of sight directly on her.
Six huge breaths later, the rumble of Zach's truck sounded in the driveway. Her heart hammered so painfully, she wanted to double over from the agony of it. She could do this. Her odds of surviving sucked, but she could save Zach.
The front door opened and rattled shut. Van must've left it unlocked, already knowing her routine. Knowing too much. She didn't dare look at the closet door for fear she'd unravel into a worthless blob of panic.
Footsteps pounded down the hall, and Zach's tall, thin frame appeared in the doorway. Images of him with that girl girded her spine, even as a lump clogged her throat. It wasn't jealousy. It was the strangling reminder that she hadn't been good enough.
He smiled. “Jeans today? Didn't know you owned a pair.”
This was going to hurt. She swallowed. Just do it quick. “We're done, Zach. No more deliveries. No more sex.” Her voice wobbled, dammit.
He narrowed his eyes and pushed a hand through his chin-length hair, gripping it at the back of his head. “What...what do you mean?”
She drew a deep breath and sat taller. “I saw you last night.”
He flinched, and his arm flopped to his side. Then he squared his shoulders and started toward her.
“No. Stay where you are.” Get him out of there. Get him safe. She hardened her eyes and her voice. “I said we're done.”
“How—” His eyes widened. “You left the house?”
Dammit, of course not. But he wasn't as perceptive as the prick in the closet. “I saw you with a girl at a bar on Sixth Street. I want you gone. Don't call. Don't come by. I'm taking my business elsewhere.”
“Hey, no. Just wait a second.” His eyes pleaded, and he swiped a hand over his face. “I can explain.”
When he started forward again, she held up a palm. “Don't come any closer.” Sweet God, the tension in the room made it impossible to breathe. “If you try to contact me, I'll file a restraining order.” I'm saving your life. “Now, leave.”
“Jesus, a restraining order? On what grounds?” His voice was thready, and his shoulders slumped. “Amber, she meant nothing. It was a mistake.”
“I'll tell them you raped me.” She cringed inwardly, her insides threatening to heave. “I still have your semen on my sheets. They'll believe me.” If Zach knew her at all, he'd call her out on her cleanliness. But he'd never paid attention to her neurosis, which was what she'd liked most about him. She rose and thrust a finger in the vicinity of the front door. “Get. The fuck. Out.”
His jaw clenched, and his blue eyes turned to glass, losing focus. He nodded a few times, staring at the floor. Then he smacked a hand against the door, knocking it into the wall. “Crazy bitch.” He turned and stomped down the hall. A moment later, the front door slammed.
The truck rumbled through the walls then faded into the distance. Gone. She was officially on her own. And her packages weren't mailed. She released a ragged breath, her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed. She sniffed and looked at the closet door. God help her. It would open any second now.
When he emerged, she met his eyes and spat out her words. “Convincing enough for you?”
“Watch your fucking tone.” He strode past her to the doorway and glared down the hall. “I should've killed him for calling you a bitch.”
Sudden warmth hit at the core of her. The sentiment touched a needy, vulnerable piece of her psyche she refused to examine. He confused her, and maybe that was part of his game. “So you can break into houses and threaten people's lives, but name calling is a crime?”
“Yes.” His pale gray eyes, so contemplative and unnervingly focused on her, made her feel more exposed than a dozen pageant walks before a hundred judges. He de-cocked the gun and tucked it in the waistband at his back. “You can run, but there's nowhere to go but outside. If you don't follow my orders, I'll restrain you...outside.”