Cruel Hearts (King’s Crossing #2)

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Stella

M ax drives Denton and me to his apartment located near the older part of downtown. The Maddox Industries building towers over us, as does Black Enterprises. I can’t be this close to the place where I was kept a prisoner without feeling sick, and I cower on the floor in the back of Max’s car fending off an anxiety attack as we slowly roll down a narrow street filled with parked cars.

It’s full dark now, and I can still taste the river water. I want a shower and clean clothes.

A private place to cry.

Almost drowning rattled me, and if I let it, I can still feel the weight of the water pressing down on me, my lungs burning.

Sitting in the front seat, Denton twists and looks over his shoulder, wanting to comfort me, but he doesn’t touch me. He repeatedly holds out his hand, then, after a moment’s hesitation, changes his mind. The attempt on our lives shook him up, too, but he’s handling it better than I am.

Max’s apartment is on the third floor of an old building, and it’s small, clean, and neat. A cat sleeps on the back of a large nubby chair, and stale coffee scents the air.

“In a couple of days, we should find somewhere else to go,” he says, dropping his keys onto a counter that separates the living room from the kitchen.

I agree. Staying in one place isn’t a good idea, but he’ll find out fast that Ash won’t give up. It doesn’t matter where we go.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Quinn’s cell is at the bottom of the river, and I have no way to communicate. I also lost Zarah’s engagement ring. Good riddance to that piece of trash, but the loss of the only picture I had of Maryanne and me will hurt me for the rest of my life now that she’s gone. There’s no way I can replace it.

In the pocket of his slacks, Denton’s wallet faired okay, but he lost his phone in the car. And, well, you know. The whole car.

Max lifts his eyebrows.

“I have a friend in the hospital,” I explain. I know we need to keep communication to the bare minimum, but I have to check in. I need to be sure she’s okay, and she’ll rest more easily and heal faster if she knows I’m still alive.

He hands over a black cell phone, but I’m at a loss how to use it. His phone doesn’t look anything like Quinn’s out of date Blackberry. The screen glows, and the icons don’t resemble any that were on the iPhone Zane gave me. I press the icon that looks like an old phone receiver, but all that does is bring up a keypad. I don’t know the hospital’s number. I’m too tired to deal with this, and I start to cry.

Gently, Max pulls the phone out of my hand and searches for the number online. I’m not so stupid I don’t know what the internet is, but I didn’t think to use it. He doesn’t give the phone back to me until the hospital operator is asking where she can direct my call.

I ask for Quinn Sawyer’s room. Max hasn’t shown us around yet, and there isn’t anywhere I can talk to her in private. Both men watch me.

“Hello?” Quinn answers, her voice guarded.

Relieved, I sink onto the chair and forget Max and Denton are listening. “Quinn.”

“Stella. Christ. I saw your accident on the news. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. A little shaky, but okay. How are you doing? How do you feel?”

“I have an infection, and I’m on antibiotics. I’m running a temperature and they won’t let me go until my infection starts to clear up. I should still be discharged in a couple of days, though. Don’t worry.”

“Has anything happened?” I flick my gaze to Max and Denton.

Max is in the kitchen making coffee, and Denton’s speaking into a landline phone. I hear him say “pepperoni,” and I hope he’s ordering pizza. I’m too sick to eat, but too hungry not to.

“No. I think whoever’s after you forgot about me.”

“Good. I lost your phone in the river.” I choke back a sob. “And everything else.”

“Stella, listen.” Quinn understands, and she says urgently, “When this mess is over, we’ll go far away, and we’ll replace everything. Do you hear me? We’ll replace everything and I’ll be your family, and there won’t be anything you’ll need or want.”

She starts crying, and pushing my face into the chair’s scratchy material, I hold back my own tears.

Max flutters a tissue in front of me, and I force a wobbly smile of thanks onto my lips.

Sniffling, Quinn asks, “How can I get a hold of you?”

I wipe my cheeks and ask Max, my voice squeaking, “What’s your phone number?”

He’s reluctant to give me the information, but he does, and Quinn writes down both his cell and landline number. “Who do the numbers belong to?”

“A journalist for the paper. He found us at the police station after the cops let us go.”

“Can you trust him?”

“At this point, I have no idea, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

She sighs. “Okay. Call me tomorrow? I know you have a lot of shit going on, but don’t forget about me, Stella, I mean it.”

“I promise. Goodnight, Quinn. Get some rest. I’m going to hold you to your offer.”

Her voice drops. “Yeah. I love you, Stella.”

I fight back a wave of bitterness. I can’t love her the way she loves me, but I wish with all my heart I could. “I know. I love you, too. Bye.” I end the call. I’m tired, and I can’t offer her any more than what I already have. “Her bullet wound is infected,” I tell Max and Denton as I pass Max his phone. “She’s on antibiotics, and they won’t release her for a couple more days.”

“Richard told me who you were talking to. It’s probably for the best,” Max says. “How do you drink your coffee?”

“With milk, if you have any. Thanks.”

In Max’s tiny bathroom, I wash my face and hands. I look horrible, and I need more than a shower and change of clothes. I need a good night’s sleep and a massive dose of painkiller.

When I come out, Max and Denton are sitting at the kitchen table. A huge pizza and a takeout container full of droopy salad are placed in the middle.

I force myself to nibble on a warm slice of pepperoni, and the little bites soothe my stomach.

“Now tell us about the black box,” Denton says, biting into his own piece of pizza, the cheese dripping grease onto his plate.

Max chews and swallows a mouthful of lettuce. He’s cute, in a dopey sort of way. His curly brown hair is cut into a mop, and paired with his respectable clothing and his gold-rimmed glasses, he looks more like a graduate student or a university professor’s teaching assistant than a reporter. I wonder if his wholesome, boyish looks entice people to talk to him.

Denton pats my hand. He’s happy I’m eating.

Max doesn’t miss anything, and his gaze darts between us for a moment before he speaks. “The NTSB—”

“What?” I interrupt, confused.

“The National Transportation Safety Board,” Denton explains.

“Right,” Max says and starts again. “The NTSB actually found the black box from Kagan and Lark’s plane the same month they crashed.”

“How do you know that?” I pull a piece of pepperoni off my slice.

“I’ve done a lot of digging, going to press conferences, talking to the right people...and the wrong ones. I never believed the box wasn’t recovered. Sometimes boxes aren’t found for several years after a crash, but Kagan Maddox was a very powerful, influential man. He had friends in high places, and they wanted to know what caused his death.”

“The box was intact?” Denton asks.

“Yes. And the last two hours of the flight had been recorded.”

“What caused the crash, then?”

“The pilot.”

“The crash really was an accident.” Denton deflates, and his skin turns a sickly pallor. He’s been mourning his friend’s death and had committed himself to finding Kagan’s killer and making him pay. He’s wasted five years trying to avenge a death that didn’t need it.

Max sips his coffee. “I didn’t say that. What do you know about the crash?”

Denton shakes his head. “Nothing. At least, nothing solid. I was trying to do some of my own investigating and Clayton Black found out. He discredited me in the news and spread rumors in our social circles to throw me off the trail. Zane validated his claims firing me from my own company. Even if I had the money to pay for information, which I don’t, I doubt anyone would cooperate or trust me enough to talk. My reputation is ruined and has been for years.”

Max turns to me. “Stella? You worked as Zane’s assistant for a while. You two were in a relationship, and you were friends with his sister. Were you privy to any information?”

I think back to the meeting Zane let me sit in on. I was so new to the position, dazzled by him and our love. I’d felt turned around, my life suddenly on the fast-track all because Zane fancied me. It hadn’t felt real. I should have listened to my instincts. “An FBI agent, and I think someone from the Coast Guard and Homeland Security came by Zane’s office. He let me attend the meeting, to give him support—”

Max scoffs. “I doubt they told him anything that was the truth.”

I shrug. I’m more cynical now. “Honestly, they could have been anybody. I don’t remember if they showed Zane ID or not, but he spoke to them as if they’d been in contact before.”

“Jesus. They played him, and he let them. I bet he believed every goddamned word they said,” Max mutters.

I bristle. “Why shouldn’t he have? He was grieving his parents. He was trying to run a billion dollar company and didn’t know how. He was lonely and scared. All he wanted was to know why his parents were dead.”

Clenching my hands into fists, and I remember asking, no, begging, him not to hurt me, but he rammed his cock into me anyway. I remember Maryanne and her blank stare. I have no business defending him.

“Others knew that too, and used it against him,” Max says. His tone softens. “What did they say?”

“They said the investigation went nowhere. That the plane’s manifest wasn’t complete and that it was unreliable. That there could have been undocumented passengers on the plane who could have been targets.”

“Like whom? Did they have any suspicions?”

I wrack my brain. “I think they said something about a senator having an affair. It’s been over five years, Max.”

“It’s okay. I was just wondering what Zane knows. Nothing, I guess, or what he thinks he knows are all lies.”

“Why would he question the FBI?”

Max smiles around a mouthful of wilting green leaves. “Exactly.”

Denton’s quiet, letting Max do all the talking. He’s eating, which I’m happy to see, too. All this has been hard on him. Suspecting Clayton Black was responsible for the deaths of a good friend and his wife and not being able to do anything must have eaten at him all these years.

“The senator in question is alive and well—he retired to Cabo San Lucas and is more than comfortable living with the anonymity and the secrecy. His wife moved into a career in politics, using her husband’s abandonment as a campaign platform for women’s rights. She doesn’t seem to mind her husband absconded with the nanny.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Nanny? They told Zane his mistress was the head of a huge gambling ring.”

“Nothing so sordid. At any rate, her disappearance would have made news. No one cared about an adulterous senator. He wasn’t on that plane, nor was his mistress, nanny or otherwise.” Max’s mouth quirks. “No one shared that plane with Kagan and Lark. The information on the cockpit voice recorder proves it.”

Denton shoves his paper plate away. “How do you know all this?”

“The FBI, after an agent sat in while the NTSB extracted the information off the cockpit recorder, took possession of the physical device and the digital data and buried it.” Max pats his lips with a paper towel and balls it up. “My ex-girlfriend works at Quantico in evidence. Her senses went on red alert when the device was logged in but then a heartbeat later the records were ‘lost’ because of a computer glitch. We met in school—she was going into journalism, too, but she decided to use her curiosity for good, not evil.”

“The NTSB didn’t care the FBI stepped in?” Denton asks.

Max lifts a shoulder. “Planes crash more often than we think. Once the FBI claimed the case, there wasn’t anything they could do, and there were other crashes that needed their attention that year. A rich debutante bride-to-be from San Francisco and all of her bridesmaids were flying to Las Vegas for the bachelorette party. They died in a violent crash in the middle of Death Valley, and that made top billing in the news not long after Kagan’s and Lark’s deaths.”

“What about the pilot?” Denton throws his plate away and grumbles into his mug. “Do you have anything stronger?”

“Beer in the fridge,” Max says good-naturedly.

Denton offers me one, but I decline.

“There’s not a lot on the pilot besides the fact he was in debt up to his eyeballs because of a betting addiction. His little girl was diagnosed with leukemia that year. Funnily enough, after the crash, his debts were paid off by a holding company based overseas, and a huge lump sum landed in the wife’s account a week later. The little girl is in remission now.”

“Someone paid him to commit suicide.” I choke on the last word.

“The sad part is, Kagan Maddox was a really nice guy. Everyone knew that, except the pilot, I guess. If he would have asked Kagan for help, he would have gotten it. Black fed on his fears instead.”

Denton perks up. “You know it’s Clayton Black? Why didn’t you say so?”

Max tips his chair back and balances on its hind legs. His kitchen is so tiny, if he falls backward, he’ll slam his head against the fridge door. “Because it’s unsubstantiated, that’s why. If you dig deep enough, the money that suddenly showed up in the wife’s account came from an offshoot of an obscure company that is possibl y owned by Black Enterprises. His holdings are like peeling an onion. There are so many layers, and without a warrant, which I don’t have, impossible to search. But,” he continues, “the one million dollar question is why did Clayton Black want Kagan Maddox dead? They were good friends all their lives.”

“Do you have any ibuprofen?” I ask. My ribs are killing me, and my whole body aches. Denton wasn’t kidding. He tackled me hard.

“Yeah, sure.”

He drops his chair, and the sharp sound of the legs hitting the floor vibrates through my skull. I can’t sit and talk anymore. The pizza helped calm my stomach, but a pain resembling a migraine has started to pound behind my eyes. I need sleep.

Max grabs a white bottle out of the cabinet above a microwave and slides it across the table to me.

I struggle to open the child safety cap, and Denton covers my hands and pulls the bottle out of my weak grasp. He drops four into my palm and offers me his half-empty beer. “Here. It will help.” He smooths the back of my head, my hair a snarly mess.

Max watches us and asks, “Are you sleeping together?”

Denton drops his hand and leans away. “No. It’s hard to find people you can trust, and Stella’s been through a lot—more than you know. I care about her, but not that way.”

Max nods, but I can tell he doesn’t believe him.

For his own selfish reasons, Denton’s protective of me. He wants Clayton behind bars for murdering Kagan and Lark, and he knows he has a better chance of that if I’m helping him. He’s not the traitorous asshole I thought he was, and it’s nice to know someone cares about me. Even if it is self-serving.

No one has ever cared about me or given me love if there hasn’t been something in it for them. Even Zane was drawn to me because I didn’t care he was rich. All I saw in him was a lost little boy who needed me. He wanted the comfort I could give him, and he gave me love in exchange for acceptance and compassion.

He was able to throw it away fast enough.

I swallow the pills and the tepid beer, and the warmth of the alcohol runs through me.

“Let’s find you somewhere to sleep,” Max says, and he leads me to a small, dark bedroom. The comforter and sheets on the queen bed are messy, but I’m too tired to care about sleeping in someone else’s bed and he doesn’t mind when I crawl in wearing my dirty clothes.

“Where will you sleep?” I ask, my eyelids already drifting shut.

“Richard and I will figure that out. Get some rest. No one knows you’re here. You’re safe.” Max shuts the door but leaves it cracked.

His and Denton’s voices float to me down the apartment’s short hallway, but I can’t hear what they’re talking about.

The next morning, over a fresh pot of coffee, Denton tells me I slept for fourteen hours and didn’t wake up once.

I need a shower, badly. I know what you’re thinking. I worry too much about being clean, but the fact is, I don’t like feeling dirty.

I feel dirty keeping secrets I shouldn’t have been keeping.

I feel dirty I worked for Ash, even though I had no choice.

A foster mom once told me if a man is fucking you over, you might as well look pretty while he does it. I was too young to understand at the time, but life is hard, and it didn’t take long to learn the lesson for myself.

During the day, she carried a Chanel bag and wore designer clothes. At night, her husband raped her.

Chin up, baby girl, and put that lipstick on.

Denton and Max do not like my plan to run to my apartment, and Max offers to buy me a few things to stop me from going. That would be the smart thing to do, but I don’t have a thing to my name and picking up some clothes and spending a few minutes in the tiny apartment I had once made a home would give me a little peace.

Denton wants to go, too, but I tell him I can disappear better alone.

Reluctantly, Max gives me ten dollars to pay the fares, and cautiously, I ride the train, this time avoiding the edge of the platform.

I’m a nervous wreck, but there’s no cheaper way to get to my old neighborhood. A taxi would cost ten times what Max gave me. I meld into the crowd, and on the bus, I loop around the city for an extra half an hour.

No one approaches me and I don’t seem to call attention to myself, though a little boy is pushed too close to me on the bench in the back of the bus and he wrinkles his nose. It feels good to smile a little.

I get off six blocks away from my apartment and steal a second to enjoy the sun, the hum of lawnmowers, and the bright, lush flowers in every yard. It fills me with a longing I can’t describe. I want a normal family, the house and the husband who works nine to five. I want the children and the PTA, baking cupcakes, and fun girls’ nights out with my friends.

Besides Quinn, Zarah’s and my brief friendship was the closest thing I had, and I miss her. Denton and I didn’t tell Max about her, but when I go back to his place, we need to brainstorm ways to get her out of Quiet Meadows.

By now, there’s no doubt Ash and Zane know I’ve been to see her, and I don’t want them angry at her for something I did. It hurts like hell Zane let Ash do that to his sister. Having her committed, I mean. He’s not the man I used to know. Well, the man I wanted him to be isn’t the man he is.

I enter through the building’s back door. Zane probably had cameras installed to watch for me, but I’ll just have to do a good job of winding my way back to Max’s. I might need the rest of the day so no one can follow me.

I’m beginning to regret my decision, but the familiar surroundings bring me back to a time when things were simple. When all I was doing was working my way toward a better life and the biggest worry I had was if I could afford the brand name or if I had to buy generic.

There’s no point in wondering what my life would be like if I’d never met Zarah Maddox.

Using the key under the mat that still lays in the hallway in front of the door, I let myself in. The apartment doesn’t smell like me. It smells of vacancy. Loneliness.

I shower, turning the water as hot as I can stand it, and use the toiletries that have been mysteriously replenished. The shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were here when Zane told me to meet him, but I was in too much shock thinking Quinn was dead, and yeah, seeing Zane again, to realize it.

Of course, the first thing he does is fuck me.

Of course, I let him, because then I still loved him.

Before I knew about Maryanne.

Before I started to hate him with all my strength.

Maybe if I would have told him about the flash drive while he was fucking me, he would have listened.

My shower lasts longer than it should, and against my better judgment, I add another fifteen minutes to dry my hair with the old blowdryer I left behind and add a bit of makeup, that had also been replaced, to my pale face. I find a bag in the back of my closet that I can put a few changes of clothes and some cosmetics into. The clothes Zarah bought me are gorgeous—vintage never goes out of style—and even five years after our shopping spree, the outfits are still on-point. I won’t be able to do much in skirts and blouses, but I choose one nice dress in case I have to talk to someone important. I put on a casual sundress and throw shorts, pants, blouses, panties, and bras into the bag. I hope I pack enough because I definitely can’t come back. Denton and Max were right. This was dumb, and I need to get out of here.

We’re going to expose the Blacks. We’re going to tell the world Clayton Black is a murderer and that Ash kidnapped me and sold Zarah. If there’s more, we’ll find it. It will require savvy, stealth, and smarts.

None of which I have, or I wouldn’t be in this mess.

I turn away from the closet, and a brunette woman, her skin a rich bronze, is pointing a gun at my face. “Crap.”

She laughs. “That’s the last thing I expected you to say, Miss Mayfair.”

“What did you think I would say?”

Misery threatens to suffocate me. Because I wanted to connect with my past, I let my guard down.

She tilts her head and considers. “I don’t know. I’ve been watching you all morning. I figured you’d come up with something a little more...elegant.”

I scoff. “I’m hardly one for class. Haven’t you heard how I grew up?”

She relaxes her grip on the black handgun. She’s dressed well, and I admire the sharp cut of her blazer. As Ash’s employee, I wouldn’t expect less.

“I know a little about you. I’ve had time to dig up a few things.”

“Are you going to bring me to him?” Maybe I can work from the inside again, though I doubt it. Ash wants me dead. This woman will deliver me to him, collect her finder’s fee, and no one will ever see me again. Maybe Denton will get word to Quinn, because God knows I’ll never be able to speak to her.

The woman’s eyes widen in surprise. “It’s what he’s paying me to do. You’re not going to fight me, are you? He only wants to talk.”

I stifle an incredulous laugh. Talk? Ash Black...talk? I believe that like I’d believe if someone told me my mother was still alive.

“There’s no point in fighting,” I whisper. “None at all.”

To my shock, she holsters her gun and picks up my bag. “Let’s go.”

I check that the water in the shower isn’t dripping, shut off all lights, and follow her out. I lock the door and hide the key under the mat.

My shoulders slump in defeat and tears blur my vision. I’m so stupid.

She leads me out of the building and across the grass and gestures to a dark grey SUV parked under a tree. I climb into the front seat and curl into a ball. I don’t bother to watch the city slide by, though I should. It’s the last time I’ll see it.

What I do is say a prayer for Zarah. Say a prayer for Quinn and Maryanne.

The woman is a decent driver, and we’re in the heart of King’s Crossing, skyscrapers blocking out the sun, in a matter of minutes.

“You know, you work for an asshole,” I say as we turn onto the block where Black Enterprises is located.

“I’m sure he has his flaws,” she replies, not looking at me. “Most men do.”

She guides the vehicle past the Black Enterprises skyscraper and my heart starts to skip around. Ash does everything from that building, except when he’s at Ladies and Gentlemen, but we’re moving in the wrong direction to be going to the strip club.

I sit up straighter, Ash’s building behind us. “I thought you worked for Ashton Black.”

“I never said that.”

She turns into the parking ramp that’s connected to Maddox Industries. Gripping the door handle, I realize she’s working for Zane. But why does Zane want to see me? He’s already hurt me in a way that will leave me destroyed forever.

I follow her to a skywalk that connects the garage to Zane’s building, and we’re waved through a small security station that I’ve never seen before. The elevator is familiar, but it doesn’t hold any fond memories. I don’t want to remember my time here.

We stand stiffly in the lift, low instrumental music playing as we glide up to the twenty-fifth floor. Zane changed offices, and it disappoints me. He didn’t want to stay in the office where we made love for the first time, where he backed me against the wall and ate me out. He was so quick to leave every facet of our relationship in the past. He also hired a new secretary, and when the woman leads me by her desk, she smiles sympathetically. I return it. I’m sorry her boss is such a selfish and unfeeling asshole.

My captor doesn’t knock, simply pushes the door open, revealing him staring out over the city. I always thought him so boyishly sexy, but these past five years have turned him into a man. A dangerous, sensual, brooding man. Broad shoulders, trim hips. Hands capable and competent. Skilled. He brought me to orgasm so quickly. Knew just where and how to touch me. To shatter me.

He turns, and his big brown eyes grow wide, like he didn’t think this woman could do her job. Like he thought he’d never see me again.

After I’m done, he’ll wish to hell he hadn’t.

I hope he knows how to wash blood out of his suit, because I am going to make him bleed.

“Stella—”

I fly at him in a fury, and before he can even think to defend himself, I attack, raking my nails down his cheek and ripping at his hair, snarling.

“Jesus Christ,” he howls in shock, pushing me off.

I’m not so easily deterred, and I get in another good swipe, adding to the streaks of blood blooming across his face. The woman swears in what sounds like Spanish and yanks me away, trapping my hands behind my back.

Struggling in her grasp, I spit in his face. “That’s for Maryanne, you son of a bitch.”

His hand shakes, and he pulls a white handkerchief out of his pants pocket. Wincing, he dabs gingerly at his cheek. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

My chest heaves and I try to break out of the brunette’s grip, but her hands are like steel and I can’t gain an inch. I strain against her, my flats digging into the carpet as I try to make headway toward him. “Don’t give me that shit. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Explain.”

That one word breaks free a torrent of tears, and I sag, no longer having the energy to fight, no longer having the energy to care.

She lets me sink to the floor.

I’m on my knees. At his feet. At his mercy. Where I’ve always been since the first moment his eyes met mine.

“Maryanne,” I gasp around my grief. “My foster mom. She’s dead. You had her shot to hurt me. To destroy me. Mission accomplished. You took away the last person who meant anything to me.” Including you. I don’t have to say the words for them to hit home.

He turns away, pressing the handkerchief to his cheek.

The woman offers me a tissue, and I dry my tears. “What do you want from me? Haven’t you taken enough? Why am I here?”

Zane ignores me. “Mel, will you check into Stella’s foster mom? What was her last name, Stella? Her address?”

“Why the fuck should I tell you? You’ve already done all you can to her.”

He speaks over my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any other information. She fostered teen girls. That’s all I know.”

“I’m on it.” Mel leaves the office, throwing Zane a worried glance over her shoulder.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Are you hungry?” he asks, blotting at his cheek.

“Fuck you.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You used to have a bigger vocabulary.”

“I’m saying all I need to say.”

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

“You mean fucking me? Could have at least paid for my time. I was nothing but your whore anyway.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything except I needed you, and you never came. I waited,” I say, my voice cracking, “and you never came.”

“Tell me where you were, Stella.”

“Fuck off.” I stand, and my body trembles with the effort. The fourteen solid hours of sleep weren’t enough. I need a lot more. A lifetime of unconsciousness.

My gaze is locked with Zane’s, his deep brown eyes forlorn, helplessness and hopelessness brimming in them.

I inch backward, wondering if he’ll stop me, wondering if he lets me run out the door, we’ll start playing another game of cat and mouse. I touch the doorknob, my fingers slipping against the metal. Almost. I’m almost free.

“I know you weren’t with Cardello, Stella. Tell me where you were.” I don’t say anything, and he demands, “Tell me what happened the night of my party.”

“Why? You won’t believe me. I tried to tell you. I’m not going to keep bashing my head into a brick wall. You do what you need to do, Zane, and I’ll do what I need to do to survive.”

He holds the handkerchief to his cheek and the edge skims his lips as he speaks. “Quiet Meadows called me. I know you went to see Zarah. I saw how sweet you were with her. If you answer my questions, I’ll let you see her.”

He knows what will get me to talk, and my hand falls off the doorknob. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs.”

Relieved, I want to cry. She’s free.

“Are you hungry?”

My stomach chooses that inopportune time to rumble.

“Let me order lunch, and we’ll talk. I promise to listen.”

I shouldn’t believe him. I shouldn’t give him any more of my time. Denton and Max will worry, but I want to see Zarah, see that she’s okay. “I don’t trust you.”

“If I have her nurse text me a picture of her, will you believe she’s home?”

“Photos aren’t proof.”

“I know. I know that now. Please. Can we just...talk? I’m only asking for an hour. Less.” He sinks into the loveseat and adjusts the handkerchief against his cheek. The blood is starting to seep through, and I struggle not to feel bad I hurt him.

I do what Denton and Max would want me to do. We can’t fight against Clayton and Ash without Zane. Without his money, without his connections. If Zarah’s really home, if they can bring her back, she can tell Zane what she knows. She can tell someone what Ash was doing to her.

“Okay, but no food. I won’t be here that long.”

“Water?”

“Fine.” I don’t want to relent, but my mouth is bone dry. I thought that Mel woman worked for Ash, and I feel like I swallowed a wad of cotton.

Tossing the bloody handkerchief onto his desk, he trudges to the bar in the corner of his office. He’s tired too, but I refuse to feel sorry for him. He sets a lowball glass filled with ice and a can of the generic fizzy water I used to drink on the coffee table. I’m surprised he remembered, surprised he would drink this instead of the fancy brand he can afford, but I don’t let my face betray my feelings.

“I did everything I could to keep you with me,” he says, even though I didn’t ask for an explanation.

I sit, and my hand trembling, carefully pour the water over the ice and listen to it crackle. I gather my thoughts. We have a lot to exchange, a lot riding on this conversation.

“How do you know I wasn’t with Sergio?” I finally ask.

“I called him, like I should have a long time ago. But, Stella, this didn’t help.”

He slides a piece of tattered paper out of his wallet. It’s worn, almost falling apart. It’s evident he’s spent a lot of time looking at it, reading it, tracing the cursive. Tears burn my throat. It’s the letter I put in the mail the night Ash took me.

“I didn’t want you to look for me.” But I wished. Oh, how I wished.

“Why, Stella?” His voice cracks.

“I needed to keep Zarah safe. I didn’t want you to question anything, and it’s obvious you didn’t,” I say bitterly, even though he did what I wanted him to do. “Everything Ash says to you is gospel. It was so easy for you to believe I ran off with another man.”

Pushing the glass away, I stand.

He shoots out a hand and clutches my arm. “We said we’d listen.”

I have to put our relationship behind me. There’s nothing left of us now, and this goes beyond what Zane and I had.

I sit.

“Thank you.”

He wants to hang on, and I feel the reluctance when he lets his hand drop from my arm.

“What happened at my party?” he asks again, sagging against the leather cushion.

“What do you know?” I grip my glass and sip, the bubbles popping on my tongue, the lemon chasing away the bad taste in my mouth.

“Zarah ran into the ballroom crying and shrieking. She was hysterical. We had to call an ambulance, and a paramedic sedated her. Later, Ash said he’d been with you and Cardello, trying to convince you not to leave me. I was devastated.”

That agrees with the video Denton showed me online. I hate thinking Zane is going to lie to me, but his allegiance to Ash is too strong, and I let him hurt me too many times.

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

He reaches out to touch me, but I shrink away and he stops. I don’t need his comfort or his touch. I cup the glass in my hands and speak to the ice. I can’t let him under my skin. Maybe he didn’t kill Maryanne. Maybe it was Ash. But no matter who did that to her, Zane and I are finished. We’re different people now.

“I went to the ladies’ room, after we...” I flick a glance at him and he nods. “I wasn’t familiar with that part of the hotel, and I got turned around. I was looking for the ballroom, and I heard Ash and Zarah. He was selling her as a very expensive, high-class prostitute. The men, they weren’t kind, and I saw some of the bruises they left behind. Ash hired her out the night of your party, and I interrupted him forcing her to do the job.”

Zane tries to swallow back a sob. He’s not successful, and a strangled cry screeches through his clenched teeth.

“I asked him how he could make her do such a terrible thing. The Zarah I knew would have told him to fuck off. He said he had proof your father was selling weapons on the black market, and if Zarah didn’t do what he said, he would expose your father as a traitor of the United States and destroy your company. You’d have nothing left. She was protecting you.”

Tears run down Zane’s cheeks, and I fight like hell not to wrap my arms around him.

He’s quiet for several moments and then asks, “Why didn’t she talk to me?”

“You know the answer to that. Whether you want to admit it or not, you know the answer.” I stand from the loveseat and walk to the windows, rest my hand against the glass. King’s Crossing sprawled out over miles and miles. I wouldn’t mind if I never saw this city again.

“Then what happened?” he whispers.

“Ash offered us a trade. He would let Zarah go and bury the information if he could take me in her place. I wanted to keep you and Zarah together. She’s the only family you have. I accepted his deal, and that was it.” I blink back tears. “He didn’t let me tell you goodbye.”

Zane watches me, looking for lies. He said he’d listen, but he didn’t say he’d believe.

“Did he sell you, too?” he asks, his voice steady now, but hoarse.

“No. He put me to work, and he didn’t let me do anything else. I didn’t have access to news or the internet, or people, really. Sometimes he let me work outside in the summer, but that’s all I did. For a long time, my memories of you kept me company, but then you started slipping away, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get you back.”

“Stella.” Zane rises and steps toward me, but I shake my head and he stops.

“Whatever we had is gone. You know that.”

I need him to agree, but he does, and it adds another crack to my heart.

“Where did he hide you? How did you escape?”

“Black Enterprises. That building is full of secret hallways and hidden rooms. It took a lot of planning. Meticulous planning. Memorizing schedules, the layout of the building. That wasn’t easy—the place is like a maze. Ash planned to go out of the country and I knew it was time to try. He very rarely leaves King’s Crossing. I almost didn’t make it. Willow saw me, but she turned the other way and let me go. She knows the monster she married...she knows the evil man her son grew up to be.”

I draw in a deep breath. It feels good to push all this off my shoulders, but Zane says nothing, stands still as stone. I can’t tell if he believes me or not.

“How many times?” he whispers.

My lips part in confusion. “How many times what?”

“How many times did he put his hands on you?”

“He hit me once in a while, but I’m a fast learner. I’ve had to be.”

Zane flinches, but his sympathy doesn’t help me now. The slaps and the split lips Ash gave me are distant memories.

“Did he do anything else to you? Let anyone else do anything to you?”

“No. I told you that morning in my apartment that since we met in your kitchen I haven’t been touched by anyone but you.” I’ll never forget the evening in the garden at the Lyndhurst...no matter how much I want to.

“Then I apologize again. I took you thinking you and Cardello had been together the whole time. Fucking him. Giving him babies. The pictures online—”

“I’ve seen the pictures. Richard Denton showed them to me. They look real but the woman posing as me doesn’t have my tattoo.”

Zane pours himself a drink at the bar, downs it, and pours another. I envy him the freedom to let his guard down. If I got drunk, I could get sloppy and end up dead.

“Denton’s been helping you,” he says.

“He wants to know why your father and mother were killed. He believes Clayton Black had something to do with it.”

Zane leans against his massive desk. “Come here.”

“No.” I don’t trust him. He could want to punish me for what I said. Or the complete opposite. We’re not a couple, and I don’t want him kissing me.

“Stella, if we’re going up against the Blacks, we need to be able to tolerate each other. We have to trust each other. I know you have my back—”

I open my mouth to protest.

“—if only for Zarah’s sake. I was wrong. I believed what Ash told me. I believed in his friendship more than I believed in our love. You paid for that, and I’m not going to stand here and tell you how miserable I’ve been since you left. That would be insulting to you, and to my sister who, up until yesterday, still lived under Ash’s control. My blind faith in his friendship hurt the two people I loved most in this world, and if Denton believes Clayton had something to do with that plane crash, then I believe it, too. Please, Stella, come here.”

My feet move of their own volition, and I step between his legs and let him wrap his arms around me. Cautiously, I rest my head against his chest.

In his embrace, I hunger. For human touch, for human connection. Maybe that’s why Denton and Quinn are always touching me...they see me as a thirsty flower, and they try to water me with touch. I’ve been so alone, but I don’t go so far as to hug him back. I don’t know what he thinks is going to happen between us, but I want no part in it.

I’ve realized my place, and it’s not by his side.

My arms hang awkwardly, my fingertips brushing the skirt of my dress.

He doesn’t release me.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his lips brushing the top of my head. “For Zarah. She wasn’t treated well at Quiet Meadows, and Ash has been drugging her to keep her quiet. We were both there yesterday after the bomb scare you orchestrated to get in to see her, and he threatened her. He didn’t think I saw it, but I did. I wouldn’t have suspected anything if you hadn’t broken into her room, so, thank you. For opening my eyes.”

I want to say I did it only for Zarah, deny I did anything for him, but it’s a lie anyway. I loved him with all my heart. Even if Ash would have driven me to my execution, I still would have gone to protect him.

I jerk out of his arms. He feels too good, smells too good, and I need to keep my distance. “Just remember, your unwavering faith in Ash did this. Zarah didn’t tell you he was selling her because she knew you wouldn’t believe her. I tried to tell you he didn’t like me, that he intentionally scared me, but you wouldn’t listen. If you want Clayton and Ash behind bars, you’re going to have to push childhood loyalties aside for the people in your life now. You’re going to have to choose sides, Zane.”

His hands grip the edges of his desk until his knuckles turn white. He hates what I’ve said, almost as much as he hates that I pulled away.

Too bad.

“Are you on my side, Stella?”

I lift my chin. “I’m on Zarah’s side.”

He nods. “Then that’s the side I’m on, too.”