I’m so surprised by the soft, gentle pressure of his lips grazing mine, barely making contact, that I feel all power draining from my arms and my legs. I melt into him, my chest meeting his, and he wraps his arms around me, crushing me against him. My breath leaves my lungs in a long sigh. I can feel Zeth’s lips form the shape of a smile as he grins savagely against me. The tip of his tongue flicks out between his teeth, tracing it gently over my lips, and then deeper, over my teeth. It’s ridiculous how quickly my body betrays me. My head swims as he envelops me, and the anxiety of the last few moments, hell, of the entire morning, is drifting away like so much smoke.
Worlds are miraculously created and come to catastrophic ends in the brief minute where Zeth Mayfair holds me in his arms. The universe sighs at the beauty of it all. When he pulls back, Zeth’s irises are flashing, filled with steel. “You have nothing to worry about, angry girl. You know that, don’t you? The Italians are just stretching their legs, pushing to see how hard I push back. If they want Seattle, they can come and take it. They’re not going to get any trouble from me. I told them I’m done. I won’t ever be someone else’s whipping boy again. And I won’t involve myself in shit that might ever take me away from you. Nothing in the world is worth that.”
So he has seen my panic. He’s mistaken it for something else, though. Makes sense that I’d be upset about how his day has panned out so far; I don’t correct him. I smile weakly, feeling like I’m betraying him as I turn away, reaching under the sink for the small first aid kit I keep there.
I unzip the small red bag and reach for the alcohol wipes inside. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be worried. I know everything’s going to be okay. I guess—I guess I’m just being stupid. Here, let me clean those hands up.”
Zeth grunts as I apply the alcohol wipes to his split knuckles. This part of our day is practically routine now, given how often he messes up his hands at the gym. It doesn’t escape me that somewhere leaving Seattle, a shipping container is headed for New York with an irate Italian trapped inside, though. That part of our day is definitely different.
Zeth is quiet, watching me with a quiet, all too familiar intensity as I go about my task. I may have told him a moment ago that I know everything is going to be okay, but from my shaky delivery down to the tremble in my hands, I know I didn’t do a very good job convincing him that I’m okay. His body takes on that strange, intimidating stillness that always arrives when he’s thinking too hard. I look up at him, smiling, trying to ease the tension around my eyes some, but I know it’s too late for that now. He folds his arms around me, drawing me into a long hug. Trying to hide this thing is going to be difficult, and it’s only going get harder.
He knows something is up.
Chapter Fifteen
MASON
Lack of sleep really fucks up my schedule. I spent all night trying to locate Ben, calling around everyone I could think of, trying to track him down, but the bastard’s disappeared from the face of the earth and no one seems to know where the hell he is. If they do, they’re not telling, anyway. Millie had a coughing fit in the night which scared me half to death, so I spent the remainder of the dark hours sitting in a chair beside her bed, watching her sleep, watching her little chest rise and fall, the soft sounds of her breathing filling the room, which explains why I feel like a goddamn zombie as I pull up outside work in the morning. I’m on time—a minor miracle in itself—but I can tell Mac’s still pissed at me when I climb out of the truck.
“What’s up, Mac?” I slam the car door, bracing for the stream of abuse he’s obviously about to hurl at me. I know things are serious when Dave appears from out back and plants himself against a workbench, arms folded across his chest, jaw locked, with a severe look on his face. Dave used to work on engines like me, but recently he’s spent less and less time turning up for morning shifts, instead appearing as the sun is going down, picking up tools when I’m putting them down. I have no idea what Mac has him doing, but it’s not legal and it’s bound to get him into serious shit some point soon.
When he reaches me, Mac slaps his palms against my chest, grabbing hold of my t-shirt. “Get your ass out back, you little punk. You an’ me are gonna have a little chat.”
Fuck. What the hell is this about? Any number of scenarios flash through my mind. Maybe he did see Kaya show up yesterday. Maybe he’s heard about me training over with Zeth. I quickly discover it’s neither of those things, though. It’s way, way worse. Mac corrals me through the narrow doorway and out into the yard behind the shop. The ground is littered with spent cigarette butts and shattered pieces of brick. Mac picks up one of the larger pieces of brick at his feet and tosses it up in the air, catching it in the flat of his palm. “You had an early morning visitor today, Mason. Someone who seemed very interested in catching you before you started work.”
“Oh?” I try not to eyeball the brick. I get the feeling I’ll be getting a very close look at it soon enough.