Zeek opens the bathroom door, and guides me in. It’s small. It’s lined with off-white, cracked tiles on the floor and walls. The ceiling chipped and yellow.
The tub is anything but welcoming, I have no idea what that black crap is near the drain. There’s a bubble bath bottle sitting on the edge, and it takes me back to mine and Zeek’s first bath together. The smell of candy, the way he paid such attention to me. I miss that day so much I wish I could go back in time.
Shutting the door behind us Zeek stares at me with a look of concern, his eyes focusing on my hand.
“Let me see your wrist.” I tuck my hand into my chest, and frown.
“Why?”
Fisting my forearm, he tears it from my chest, and looks it over.
“I’m fine.” I mumble, trying to pull from his grip.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had them so tight.” His thumb rubs small circles along the bruising line, the act contradicting his behavior over the last few hours.
It’s soft and gentle, sparking little butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I hate this, the way he acts like a fucking animal, then turns around and acts like a human being who cares. This is all a game to him, one I can’t comprehend.
I pull my hand from him successfully.
“I can’t, I don’t trust you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have killed a Lieutenant then, because now we can’t trust anyone!” I raise a brow, my words sharp. His nostrils flare, and he slams his hands into the tile on either side of my head, making me jump as he boxes me in. His arms bulge with tanned muscle, the smell of manliness coming from him making my body flush with desire.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t the first one!” He roars out of anger. My mouth pops open, and before I can think thoroughly, my hand slaps him across the face. I yelp after realizing what I just did, and cover my mouth with my hand. I hit him before, punched him before, but that was out of anger, this slap was personal.
He pulls away from me. Lifting his chin, he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up as if he’s frustratingly hot, revealing his hard biceps in the process. He turns, resting his hands on the back of his neck, inhaling an audible breath.
We’re both angry, both exhausted and confused. I’ve never been on this side of the law before, it’s raw and pure evil.
My chest constricts, the small room closing in on me. Zeek and I lived in a world of pretend for so long, we never thought about what would happen when everyone found out about us. And now, my life has been ripped right out from under me. Zeek’s way of life, gone. We gambled it all to be together, and lost it all.
Now we have nothing but each other, and we can’t even stand to be in the same room as each other.
I slide down the wall, my knees coming up to my chest. “You might have been right about my department, and maybe my father wasn’t the best Lieutenant, but he was a good man,” I mutter, my hands tangling in my hair. Memories of him giving money to homeless veterans, or helping me study for my police academy test spin in my head.
“I didn’t mean to say that. You’re just being really fucking complicated.” He looks down at me, his voice sincere. “But you don’t know your father as well as you think you do.”
My head snaps up. “Why don’t you enlighten me then?”
He shakes his head, looking away from me.
“Doesn’t matter now. Just know that I am doing everything I can to keep your ass alive, and it’d be nice if you’d stop fighting me so hard.”
“No, tell me. What is it you think you know about my dad that I don’t?” Ignoring me, he turns the shower on. “Why won’t you just tell me!?”
“Because you can’t handle the truth!”
My stomach falls, and I blink rapidly.
If my father was involved with the Outlaws then Zeek’s right, I’m not sure I can handle the truth.
Would I end up dead because of my father’s actions and decisions?
“Be honest with me about something, is your uncle going to catch us?”
He squats in front of me, a finger turning my chin to where I’m eye to eye with him.
“If anyone can save your stubborn ass, it’s me, Jillian.” The look on his face takes me aback. Digging things from a place unknown deep inside of me. His eyes hold a committed look of love and adoration, but they’re also darkened with a promise of obsession and the fuel to cut someone’s throat if they so much as glance at me wrong. It’s obsessive, like he might lose me tomorrow, and it’s hard to resist.
Something clatters to the floor from my pocket, catching mine and Zeek’s attention.
“What the hell is that?” I look to where Zeek is pointing next to my hip, and see the cross that I found in my hand after Zeek pulled me off my father.