Ch. 11..20

Chapter 11

The stranger's mouth opened and he made a tiny sucking noise. But even though his face looked like he was screaming, he couldn't seem to use his voice.

Zev got both hands back on the shirt again a moment later and was growling. "Were you just called in, or were you posted here earlier? Blink once for a hot call, twice for a routine."

But the guy didn't blink at all. Sasha watched as the twisted shirt seemed to sink into his skin and one of his eyes bloomed red as a blood vessel in it broke.

"Zev, you're killing him!"

"It's him or you, Sash. He's here for you."

She gasped and stared at the man, whose eyes snapped back and forth between her and Zev, his face swelling. Then he began to shake.

"Did Nick assign you? Blink once for yes, twice for no."

The guy's eyes closed, but never opened again. Sasha watched, horrified, as he silently shuddered, over and over again, foam bubbling on his lips and Zev mercilessly continued to strangle him.

"Zev, stop! Stop! He's going to die!"

"If he doesn't, you will!"

But then a car came careening around the corner from the street and through the open barrier on the other side of the hut, the tires squealing and a quick pop, pop, pop sounded. Zev swore and shoved the guy back out the window and into the staff hut. There was a massive thud as the man hit the ground inside, a deadweight. Leaning out the window and into the little hut, Zev whacked at something on the countertop, then threw himself back into his seat as the barrier slowly began to rise.

"Hold on, Sash!" he snapped and threw the van into gear. It shot forward while the barrier was still only halfway up, cracking against the top of the windshield, then scraping up to the roof.

The van bounced in the dip between the sidewalk and the street, then lurched around the corner at speed, the tires whining.

Sasha was thrown to the side, slamming against the locker.

"Get back in your seat! Now!" Zev snarled and Sasha, shaking and dizzy, crawled across the floor and into the seat, clicking herself back in, panting so hard she wheezed.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Who was this man? Was he even the Zev she'd known? Or just some lookalike?

Her entire body trembled. This couldn't be him. It couldn't be the man she'd loved, the one who was so sweet and thoughtful. He'd always been over-protective, sure. But this?

"He wasn't dead," Zev muttered a moment later as they sped down the street.

"Wh-what?"

"He wasn't dead. He'll live. He sucked in a breath when I dropped him."

Sasha put a hand to her chest with relief. But knowing that the man had lived didn't ease the sick pit in her stomach. "You would have killed him, though," she said.

It wasn't a question, but he nodded. He took a corner at the yellow light at speed and she rocked in her seat. She felt sick to her stomach. She was going to throw up.

"He would have killed you, Sasha. Or worse."

Worse? What could be worse? Then she met his eyes in the mirror again.

Oh.

"Why are they chasing you? And why would they care about me?" she asked faintly.

Zev took three more corners in quick succession before he answered. Sasha was beginning to feel faint, but determined to keep herself upright and focused. If these were her last minutes on earth, she was going to be present for them.

"They're chasing me because I know their secrets," he said dryly. "And they care about you because I care about you. They can… use you to get to me."

"You know their names?" she asked, incredulous.

"What?"

"You know their names. You asked that man if a specific person had put him there?"

Zev sighed and weaved the van in and out of traffic. Sasha refused to focus on anything but him. She knew if she looked out the windows to see the city flying by she would panic. Then he put his foot to the floor as the light ahead of them changed from green to yellow and she closed her eyes, swallowing hard again and again as her body threatened to revolt.

"I asked that man if my boss had assigned him earlier, or if he'd been placed there when we started running."

Her eyes flew open. "How would they get someone there so quickly?"

He snorted.. "You'll see," he said darkly.

Chapter 12

Before Sasha could ask again, Zev leaned forward and popped the glovebox, pulling a small, analog phone from its shadowed depths. Continuing to scan the road ahead and the mirrors behind for anyone that might be tracking them, Zev got the old fashioned phone turned on and pressed the speed dial for Nick, his handler.

"Interesting night." The voice on the other end was deep and clipped, apparently unconcerned about Zev's rebellion.

"Call them off," he growled, glancing at Sasha in the rearview who was staring back at him, her face a mask of fear and confusion.

"You left a hunt, Zev. You aren't sixteen anymore. They aren't going to slap you on the shoulder and say boys will be boys."

"Call them off," he snarled. "They don't need her. I'll get her out of here and I'll be back. A few hours, tops. This was only training anyway!"

"I warned you about this, Zev. You didn't listen."

"What were they doing circling her house?"

"They were watching you, and you know it."

"Bullshit, Nick, you had a guy posted in the parking lot."

"Because you had an escape kit there."

Zev trembled with an overwhelming wave of anger and frustration. He'd made sure they were aware of many of his back door plans—he'd wanted them to be. But it had been specifically to distract them from this one.

This one he'd thought was airtight. Shit.

Did that mean they knew about—

"Zev, take her home, come back to the hunt, then come see me. We'll work something out. It doesn't have to end like this. You know that."

The words were so reasonable, so… friendly. And it was true, Nick had saved his ass more than once. He'd kept the powerful eyes away from Sasha when they were teenagers. Of course, he'd also been the one to force Zev to abandon her—and his people.

Their relationship was… complicated.

Zev sighed like he was thinking about it, but inside his mind was spinning. He had to get this call ended quickly and leave the phone somewhere they would believe. He'd been told that the analogue ones were harder to trace. He knew it was bullshit.

They lied. A lot.

But he'd only recently figured out exactly how much.

"I don't know, Nick," he muttered. He couldn't be seen to give in too quickly or Nick would know something was up.

"C'mon, Zev. Have I let you down before?"

Yes, but Nick didn't know that Zev knew about that. Zev swallowed and glanced at Sasha in the rearview again.

His stomach literally clenched at the sight of her. His hands were already shaking. His hands hadn't trembled in five years. Not even after his first kill. That was the effect she had on him. And she didn't have a clue. She thought he'd left her because he stopped caring.

Holy fuck.

"I'm taking her home and you're making sure there's no one there, Nick. If I get so much as a sniff of a suit, we're gone and you never see me again. I can do it. You know I can."

Nick didn't respond well to threats, but Zev needed him to think he was cracking.

There was silence on the line except for the tap-tap-tapping of a keyboard. Nick was in the office tonight.

"Fine," he sighed thirty seconds later. "I called them out. But there's a perimeter, Zev. I can't remove them completely. It looks too suspicious."

Zev breathed easier then, but he couldn't let Nick know.

"They don't touch her."

"Zev—"

"Non-negotiable, Nick."

"You brought her into this, not me!"

"I don't give a fuck. You want an obedient dog, you reward good behavior."

"Good behavior? You are shitting me right now."

"They made contact before I did, Nick. They broke the rules."

"AFTER you followed her. Again. We aren't stupid, Zev. And I'm not your mother, I'm not going to kiss your boo boo. I told you to leave her alone. You didn't. You brought this on yourself. People are starting to pay attention."

"Well, you can tell people to back the fuck off. Unless you're toothless suddenly?"

Nick grunted.

Zev took the next turn at speed. Luckily it was getting late and the city streets were starting to clear. Sasha sucked in a breath and grabbed at the Oh Shit handle above the door, but she didn't say anything.

He looked at her in the mirror again and when her eyes met his something snapped between them—a moment of… something. Understanding? Relief? Grief? Desire?

All of the above.

He couldn't tell her everything. He couldn't even tell her a lot. But he could let her see that he'd never stopped loving her. Had, in fact, only left because he loved her.

Teenage love, Nick had said back then. Just lust disguised as emotion. Get her out of your system then get out.

He'd been young enough and stupid enough to listen back then. And he'd cursed himself for it every day since.

"Zev?"

Shit, Nick had been talking and he hadn't heard a word. "I'm driving, Nick. You'll have to say that again."

"I said, they'll leave her for now. But she's going to have watchers. If you get within a mile of her, they're going to take her. They want to know how she's got a hold on you. I told them she was just holding your prick, but they don't believe me anymore."

Zev grunted as he would if he was grateful, but inside he seethed.

How much of it was lies? How much had Nick created this? And how much was just his uncanny ability to know what Zev was thinking before Zev did?

Nick was the closest thing Zev had to a father. A very sick, very powerful, very manipulative father.

"I'm taking her home," he said quietly, turning the van again and roaring back in the direction they'd come from. "But if she doesn't sleep peacefully tonight, if she sees even one suit, I'm ghosting. You hear me, Nick?"

"Be very, very careful right now, Zev." Nick's tone was dark and deep and utterly immovable. "You don't want to get yourself in any more trouble than you already are."

"You know me, Nick," he said bitterly. "Always a good boy."

Nick spluttered a laugh, but it rang false and Zev felt better. Nick wasn't as certain of himself as he liked to make out.

"You rejoin the hunt within two hours."

Two hours. It wasn't enough. "Four."

"Three—and I swear to god, Zev—"

"Three. Fine. I can do three," he snapped. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Nick was silent—no laughter, no growling correction either. It was crazy how he could unsettle Zev by what he didn't say.

"That'll make it exactly two sixteen am, Zev. Don't fuck with me."

"See you then." He hung up the phone and heaved a sigh of relief. He could do this. Three hours would be tight, but he could do it.

He slowed the van, scanning the buildings that were all so similar, though he knew hers like he knew his own. If they could just—

"Zev?" her voice was high and quavering, but full of conviction. "What the hell is going on?"

Chapter 13

Zev was here, driving her home, and was talking about her to someone else. Someone who knew who she was and that he'd come for her and…

What the hell was going on?

"Zev?" she asked again, terrified, but also angry. What had he gotten her into?

"I'll explain when we get inside," he said.

She looked out the windows then and realized they were on her block. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She'd yearned for the day Zev would come to her apartment. Dreamed about it. But somehow she'd always imagined that he wouldn't happen until they'd reconnected. That out of the blue one day he would call her, or find her on social media. Something. He'd be the one to make contact. And he'd beg for forgiveness. He'd offer some fully believable, forgivable offence for why he'd left. And they'd slowly reintroduce themselves to each other. Maybe a few phone calls? Then she'd invite him to come see her and…

She'd never imagined being shot at, watching a man almost die at his hands, and then listening to him swear like a sailor and bark into a burner phone like some kind of bad movie villain.

Zev had always had an edge. A sharp edge. But he'd also always held it in check around her. His strength and confidence had been a wall between her and the world to keep her safe, not put her under threat.

But that was five years ago.

He wasn't a teenager anymore.

Her eyes followed the line of his very broad shoulders and measured the thickness of them, the sheer strength that rippled under his skin. Even the sleeves of those ugly overalls were taxed by his biceps, pulling tight over them every time he moved his arm.

But when she'd known him before, his strength was a tool. Something he used to help, or protect. Now…

Now he felt like a weapon.

What had happened to him? Where had her tender warrior disappeared to in the past five years?

The image of him standing in front of her on that roof, his hand held out, and all the ways that simple gesture conjured their past—the way he'd known it would.

And the hurt that had flashed in his eyes when she didn't take his hand. So different from the last time he'd offered himself to her like that…

It was over a year after the first time. Dozens of open hands later.

They were in her room in the bright afternoon, both windows glowing with the late-summer sun.

They'd talked about wanting each other. He hadn't pushed. Sasha had decided she was ready. That day her parents were gone until late and… and she loved him. And, maybe more importantly, he loved her.

But she hadn't told him her parents would be gone. She had wanted to give herself a chance to change her mind if it didn't feel right. But instead, she'd found herself buzzing with excitement, hopping around all afternoon, waiting for him to arrive. Because he didn't know, and she did, and she was ready.

When he finally arrived, walking easily into their kitchen the way he always did, the afternoon sun throwing sparks off his dark hair, his handsome face softening when he found her, she'd practically thrown herself into his chest, arms around his neck, taking the kiss deep fast.

He was surprised, but he caught up quickly, his breathing turning heavy, his arms coming around her in that gorgeous, warm, wall she adored.

"What—?" he'd rasped a minute later as she pulled him towards the hallway and the stairs up to her room.

"Just come with me," she whispered, and kissed him again.

They'd kissed and breathed and stroked their way through the house to her room, only pulling apart when they were at the door and she needed to turn to open it. She'd stared at him a minute first, and he stared back, his eyes a little wider than usual.

His hands shook. And that was what made her certain. She'd been so certain.

She took his hand then and led him inside, then came to a stop in the middle of the carpet. He walked right up behind her in that way he always did, putting himself over and around her, his fingers trailing down her sides to rest at her hips.

But she'd stopped, suddenly, Swallowing hard.

Her little, single twin bed she'd had since elementary school stood stark in the middle of the floor, beckoning—and taunting her with her innocence.

He'd felt her tense and immediately given her more space. She turned to find him, chest heaving, his broad shoulders rising and falling, but his eyes… those eyes… they were always a bright, startling ice-blue, but today in this light and with they ways they'd had their hands on each other, his eyes glowed, sparkling like ice over lights.

"It's okay, Sash," he'd croaked. "I can wait." He didn't want to—she could see the yearning in his gaze. And the lump in his jeans. But he meant what he said. He could wait. And he would. For her.

He was so fucking perfect, he put her to shame.

She sucked in a breath and shook her head. "I know you can," she whispered. "But I can't."

He'd blinked and offered his hand, then a slow, heated smile started on his beautiful lips as she stepped back into his arms. He'd cupped her face and taken her mouth so deeply, so slowly. His trembling fingers brushing her hair back off her face, then dragging down her nape, to her spine. And she shivered.

She'd shivered a lot that day—

"Sash?" his voice was deeper now, harder. But as she blinked back to the present, his eyes were unchanged.

The same eyes as she'd seen that day—shadowed in the dark of her apartment building parking lot. Sharper and almost haunted, looking for the predators. But he'd turned in his seat and when their eyes locked, his ice-blue eyes… melted.

"You're here," she said, like an idiot.

His throat bobbed. "I never really left."

She felt her face fall, pinching with confusion and pain. "But—"

"I'll explain, I promise, Sash. But we've only got a few minutes. Because they think I'm leaving you here, and I'm not.. But as soon as we step out of this van, we're probably being recorded. So you need to listen to me for a minute, okay?"

Chapter 14

Sasha nodded at him, her face pale, and her eyes slightly glazed. Shit. She wasn't just frightened, she was in shock.

With another muttered curse he pushed up and out of the driver's seat, crawling over the bench seat into the back of the van.

Her eyes widened and he realized he'd probably done that a little too smoothly. But hopefully she'd just put it down to her own shock.

She was still sitting in the jump seat, still clipped into the seatbelt, but her eyes followed every move he made. So he crouched on the floor of the van, putting himself lower than her, and spoke quietly and calmly as he unclipped her seatbelt and held it so it would return slowly and not make that clunking noise. She was already on the edge. He didn't need to startle her.

"So, what we're going to do, is we're going to go inside and get a bag of your things. Not much, just enough to keep you going for a few days. But the clothes, they need to be comfortable and tough. Only one pair of jeans. Leggings and Ski clothes are better if you have them—stuff that will keep you dry and warm in snow. You won't need make up or anything like that. And don't bring ID. No wallet. Nothing that can identify you to someone else, okay? Plus, you'll need to leave your phone here."

"What?! Why?"

He raked a hand through his hair as she pushed away from him in the seat. "Because the people that we're running from will be able to track it," he said honestly. "The best chance we have of getting away from them is to leave no trail. No way to trace you. No identifiers at all."

She gaped at him, her forehead furrowing into lines. "Zev… why?"

He put a hand to her face and felt her skin prickle, smelled joy and desire thread into her scent, and his heart leapt. "Because the people I'm close to are dangerous, Sash. And they want to know why I haven't been able to leave you alone for five years. And why I showed up to follow you tonight. And why I hid you from them. I'm sorry. This is my fault. They're after you now because of me, but you have to know, I never wanted that. It's why I've avoided you all this time."

She searched his gaze and when she spoke, it was with a broken, strangled voice. "Zev… are you… are you in the mafia or something?"

He huffed a laugh and caught himself. "No," he said, emphatically. "This is way bigger than that."

"What could be bigger—?"

"Trust me, Sash, you're safer if you don't know. But here's the thing you need to know: I never wanted to leave. I never chose it. And I never stopped watching over you. Ever." He'd never dominated her before—never wanted to break her will. Never wanted her to give him anything she didn't choose for herself. But he let himself feel the weight of those words, feel the truth of them, let them echo in his ribs and feed into his veins. Let her feel the strength and certainty in him. She needed to know.

She needed to remember she could trust him.

She blinked a few times and her hand twitched like she was going to touch him. An ache bloomed in his chest when she fought it.

He had to remind himself that she didn't know he'd been so close for so long. She didn't know why he'd left her alone, that he'd been protecting her, even then.

"Do you believe me?" he asked, finally when she didn't answer.

She nodded slowly. "I'm just not sure I should," she whispered, her eyes blazing with fear and hope and a storm of emotions he couldn't untangle in her scent.

"You know me, Sash," he breathed a truth he hadn't told another living soul. "You're the only one who ever knew the real me. Trust that."

In the opposite of what he'd hoped for, she frowned at that and pulled back, pushing herself deeper into the seat. "I can't trust anything you say," she said simply. "You lied to me."

"No, I never lied, I was—"

"You told me you were coming for me and you left and you never came back. I waited for you, Zev. For five fucking years I waited and now you show up and almost kill a man in front of me and you tell me to trust you?!"

She was beginning to shake. If he didn't handle this carefully, she was going to break.

"No," he said, his voice low and gruff. "I'm telling you to trust the Zev you knew. And watch me. Because you'll see, I'm still him. I promise."

"And if you're lying?" she said in a tiny voice.

It was a risk. They needed to move and he needed to get her clear on how they were going to do this. But he reached for her, traced her hair from her temple, back behind her ear. She closed her eyes and bit her lip when he touched her.

Just that tiny moment, that tiny touch… she was like a drug in his system. His heart pounded, racing faster than he could run. His skin throbbed with it. Nothing did that to him anymore. He was as cold as a machine. He'd been forced to think like a machine. To be untouchable.

But she touched him, deeply. Every time.

There was something between them that defied explanation. He didn't know how, or why it had happened, though he had some suspicions. He didn't know how it was possible a soulless creature like him could feel so much. But she did that to him, she always had.

And he'd give anything to keep her safe.

Anything.

Even himself.

Chapter 15

Sasha led him into the stairs and up one flight. He pulled the door open for her and she glanced at him with a strange look on her face, but she darted through to her apartment, just two doors down the hall. Her eyes were too wide, but otherwise anyone watching them would have seen her tense, but normal.

Then she closed the door behind him and flipped the lock, tossed her keys and purse on the little table in the entryway and turned, stalking past him into the bedroom.

Walking into her apartment was heaven. It was bathed in her scent—vanilla and apples—and there were reminders of her everywhere—that soft, fake fur blanket thrown over the back of the couch made him smile. She'd always been very anti-fur, which used to make him laugh.

If only she knew.

Emotion hit him right in the chest and he had to swallow back a lump in his throat. He'd imagined coming in here so many times in the past two years… yearned for it. Ached for it. Almost snuck in just to be close to her, even if she didn't know it. But that would have been creepy. He'd given her her privacy, but he'd wanted her. Wanted to be here. Needed to be close. Keeping his distance from her had been like chewing off his own foot. And now he didn't have to anymore. He couldn't quite believe it.

"Five years, Zev," she said, her voice trembling and high. "Five years and then… you just show up like nothing happened? You expect me to just… what? Where the hell have you been?"

"Working," he said, his voice a low growl as he prowled forward, making no sound at all, covering every inch of the room as they talked, checking corners and furniture, looking for anything that could be hiding a video feed.

"Working? Twenty-four hours a day? Seven days a week? Working so hard you couldn't even send me a note to tell me you were alive?!"

"It isn't the kind of work that has Saturdays off, Sash."

"Stop calling me that."

He pulled up hard at that, frowning at her. "I've always called you Sash."

"You haven't called me anything for five fucking years, Zev. What the hell is wrong with you?" She'd stalked into her bedroom that was just off the small living area and after checking behind the television he went after her, twisting sideways to fit between the blanket basket and the arm of the loveseat.

He felt too big in this place. Though the ceiling in the living area was vaulted, it was small. Thin gaps between couch and coffee table, table and television. He was suddenly too large, like he didn't fit the space.

Then he passed through the door into her room and memories hit him, one after another, pelting him like hail.

Directly across from the door was a large bed covered in a soft, cream quilt. There were nightstands on either side of it and a dresser to his left, a door off to the right that must have been the bathroom.

But the first thing that caught his eye was the photograph, half-curled on itself, stuck into the frame of her mirror. A picture, not just of them. It was one of those game night group shots with everyone screaming their smiles and arms thrown high with peace signs, or horn hands. They'd all been excited because their team won, which didn't usually happen, and half her friends were in the band, half of his in the football team.

"I don't know what you think is going to happen here, but you don't get to just walk back into my life and pull me out of my best friend's apartment and just… be here. That's not how life works!" she snapped.

"I just wanted to make sure you got home safe," he muttered, his attention on the picture.

They were on the righthand side of the group, bent forward towards the camera so their friends behind him could be seen—he'd been tall, even then. His arm was thrown over her shoulders, one of her hands was up to cup his jaw, the other extended with the peace sign.

They looked young and happy and… easy. It had been an act for him, back then. The whole high school student, golden boy thing. But not her. The way he was with her, that had never been pretend.

He plucked the picture out of the frame of the mirror and stared at it.

Behind him Sasha was opening a duffel bag on the bed. When she turned to slide open a drawer in the dresser where he stood, she saw him looking at the photo, and she stopped.

His head snapped up and she looked back and forth between him and the picture. "That's… not yours," she said, heat flooding into her cheeks as she snatched it out of his hand.

But he noticed that when she opened the drawer to pull out underwear and socks, she didn't put the picture back into the mirror, but pressed it into the pile of little items he was trying to ignore and shoved it into the bag.

There were other things in the room. Little memories—her tassel from her high school graduation dangling off a pin board, among other souvenirs—pictures of college graduation, ticket stubs, lanyards, things he hadn't been there to witness. There was a stuffed bear in a shelf in the corner that had always sat in front of her pillow on her bed back then.

Then, as he snuck around the room closing curtains, checking for devices, he saw the lamp on her bedside and it jolted him to a stop.

The base of the lamp was a glass vase filled with rocks of widely varied colors, shapes, and even sizes, though even the largest would fit in her palm.

He knew those rocks. Almost all of them. Knew that on a good day he'd probably scent himself on them.

Holy shit. She'd kept them all this time?

It was sheer will not to turn and take her in his arms and kiss her silly. He wished he could pick the damn thing up, smash it, and put those rocks in the bag, too. But that was just stupid.

"You have no right to be here!" she said, and her voice shook with tears. He turned then, agape to find her shoving a thick jacket into the bag—good girl, she'd remembered. He hoped she had some woolen socks. But she was staring at him, her eyes lined in silver tears, her chin beginning to tremble.

His stomach plummeted.

Chapter 16