Cruel Hearts (King’s Crossing #2)

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stella

Z ane carries me to bed. I’m out of it enough to hope he’s bringing me to the Honeymoon Suite, but conscious enough to dread it, too. I’m too lonely to want the distance I need. He finds the room Quinn’s sleeping in and lays me down on the queen bed next to hers.

He sits on the edge and rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. I keep my eyes closed. Somehow, I sense Zane needs a few moments alone. It’s hard to explain the tension, and when he kisses my cheek and leaves, I relax.

Because we all agreed to trust each other, we’re keeping our doors propped open, blocked by the security bar at the top of the doorjambs. We can’t hide anything from each other, and it’s easier to trust the people I don’t know. I like Mel and her no-nonsense attitude. I feel sorry for Nathalie. Living under Ash’s control has been hard on her, and I’m ashamed Zane didn’t look closer at the kind of life she led. He trusted Ash, and that’s as far as it went with him.

Having blind faith isn’t a crime, and as long as he knows now, he’ll fight to keep Ash and his father from hurting anyone else ever again. After things settle down, I’ll need to decide if my love for him, and his for me, is enough to cancel out the past.

I hope it will be. Nathalie said he missed me. Well, I’ve missed him too.

Quinn whimpers in her sleep. She’s reclining in bed, a mountain of pillows supporting her, and her arm is braced in the sling. She liked the clothes Mel ordered, her eyes widening at the expensive designer labels. I elbowed her and mouthed “Real ones,” and she laughed. Mel was curious by what I meant, tilting her head in bemusement, a puzzled smile on her face, and I hope Quinn’s...career choice doesn’t affect what we do here.

Her prescriptions are arranged on top of a dresser across the room, and I open a bottle and slide a pain pill onto my palm. I wiggle the pill past her lips and tip a glass of water to her mouth. She barely rouses long enough to swallow it and she’s out again before I can set the glass down on the nightstand.

I’m nervous about tomorrow night, but Ash thinking I’m dead is the smartest thing we can do right now. I can’t help if I’m hiding, and I haven’t done so well protecting myself. Ash is tenacious and has the resources to never stop hunting me down.

Barefoot, I pad down the hallway toward the Honeymoon Suite. Zane chose the luxurious room hoping he and I would share it on the nights he slept at the hotel. I want to, and I let myself in. His door is blocked open like everyone else’s, and his sleeping form is a small lump on the massive, canopied bed.

I stand near the footboard and listen to him breathe. I debate for half a second and then slip under the heavy bedspread next to him.

Zane folds me into his arms and buries his face in my hair. His easy acceptance brings tears to my eyes. I’m full of judgment and recrimination, and he simply loves me.

“Are you okay?” he asks sleepily. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just you,” I say.

He hugs me tighter. There isn’t sex in his embrace, only reassurance things will be okay, a solace I greedily accept. I wiggle in his arms, trying to get closer, though the only way we could be is if he joined us, pushing into me and turning our two broken hearts into one.

If I sought his lips in the dark, if my hand found his cock, he would give himself to me, but he’s giving himself to me now, in a different way. A more important way. I force myself to relax and go to sleep. Tomorrow, and every day after, will be long and difficult. I need to be rested and alert.

Ash wants me dead, and Zane can’t keep me safe forever.

I’m so tired, it doesn’t matter how worried I am, and I’m waking up before I realize I fell asleep.

I steal a moment of the quiet morning to enjoy lying in Zane’s embrace as the bright sunlight glimmers through the white, gauzy curtains. We didn’t move all night, and he cradles me in his arms. I wish we could stay like this all day, but I’m hungry, my stomach rumbling, and I have to use the bathroom. Carefully, I disentangle myself without waking him. He doesn’t give me up easily, and I love him so much for that.

No one else is awake yet, and I order breakfast, charging the same credit card Mel used to pay for our dinner. Muffins, pastries, and gallons of coffee. The single-serve Keurig can’t keep up with what we’ll need to stay focused throughout the day.

The bakery sends three people to deliver my order to Max’s room.

I add a tip to the receipt to thank the delivery staff and eagerly, I fix a mug of coffee and down it, savoring the rich, earthy roast. I pour another to sip on and arrange a tray of pastries to bring Zane. I leave the rest on the conference table for the others, but there’s no chance we’ll run out.

Trying to prevent our coffee from sloshing over the sides of the mugs, I carefully carry the tray to Zane’s room. I bump the door open with my hip and step inside. His hand is patting my side of the bed searching for me. It’s adorable, and holding his mug of coffee, I inch across the bed on my knees.

His eyes crack open. “Too early.”

“I was hungry and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

He sits up. His broad chest is toned and tanned, his wide shoulders propped against a pure white pillow.

Because he’d been not much more than a boy when Ash kidnapped me, his masculinity always strikes me now. His boyish charm has turned into an adult charisma I admire on a different level. Not that of a girl, feeling out of her depth, but as a woman, who has lived through some things and come out the other side, older, wiser, cautioned.

Grief still shadows his deep brown eyes, but it’s a different kind than that of mourning his parents’ deaths. Betrayal and defeat. Losing me, maybe, losing a childhood friend. Losing his sister.

I pass him the steaming mug, and he groans appreciatively.

The low growl makes me wet, and I want to climb into his lap, but I stay where I am.

He links our fingers. “You slept here last night.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

I melt, and I berate myself for being so easy.

“You’re worried,” he says. “I am, too. But I’d be more worried if we didn’t do something. Ash has had plenty of chances, but so far, he hasn’t succeeded. By luck, maybe, or because he’s having fun playing with you. This is Ash, so I suspect it’s the latter, but he’ll grow bored, Stella, and we can’t forget that if you’re alive, you’re a threat.”

I tighten my fingers around his. The pressure turns my skin white.

“Do you think he knows you talked to Sergio?” I ask, leaning over the side of the bed and picking up my mug off the tray. I gulp the rich coffee, downing half the cup, and then I trade it for an almond and caramel pastry. It smells sweet, almost too much, and I offer Zane a bite. His lips brush my fingers.

He chews and swallows. “I think it’s a very good possibility. I told Cardello shit was going down, things concerning Ash and Black Enterprises, and if he was accepting a bribe to stop now and cover his tracks. I wasn’t kind and gave him a warning I shouldn’t have. He helped Ash abduct you and lied about it. He should go to prison.”

“Why would he do something like that?” I feed Zane another bite. I should have ordered something more nutritious, but this is okay if we don’t do it every day. He said he’d take care of me, and I’m more than willing to return the favor.

“His family needs the cash. They’re big spenders, and they’re in serious debt, something I didn’t know. He did it because it was easy money for little work. He’s already a playboy. Why would he turn down the chance to make a few million hanging out with a pretty woman and letting Ash’s photographers snap some pictures to plant online?”

“He seemed so nice at your party.”

“His debt and his attraction to you made him an easy target when Ash suddenly needed you to disappear.”

I nibble the pastry, the coffee’s earthy flavor and the sugar mixing decadently on my tongue. “It’s sad people are so easily bought.”

Zane rubs his finger over my lips and licks it clean of caramel. “Cardello’s mother sent him to my party hoping he and Zarah would make a match. The Maddox money would have saved their reputation and bought out their debt. I believed he was offering you the world and that you were shallow enough to take it. I’m sorry.”

“I am, too.”

We sip our coffee in silence and share the pastries until they’re gone.

Everyone’s using the morning to get some extra rest, and we don’t hear activity in the hallway until after nine o’clock.

Mel sticks her head into Zane’s room. She spots me on Zane’s bed, smiles sheepishly, and quickly retreats. I don’t blame her for wanting a head count. We’re all going to have a part to play, and mine may be bigger than the others’. A ghost can go anywhere without being seen. Mel and Zane would be stupid not to use that.

He sets his coffee mug on the night table and places the empty pastry plate next to his mug.

While we were talking, my robe slid down my shoulder, and the nightgown Mel ordered reveals more than it covers. Either Mel has a fancy for sexy lingerie or she ordered it for Zane. Either way, it does the job, and the air changes around us.

He pulls me into his arms and against his hard, bare chest.

His brown eyes smolder as he looks at me, and my mouth dries. This is new. Making love in the light, things settled between us. Well, maybe not completely settled, but both of us seem to be on the same page.

We could try again. We talked about that, didn’t we? Does he know I want to? Or was that a conclusion I came to last night in the dark, his arms holding me in place by his side, right where I want to be?

Strong.

Protective.

Possessive.

“Zane—” I start. I want to tell him.

“Don’t,” he says, and slants his lips across mine, twisting his fingers in my hair that’s already full of snarls.

He tastes of caramel and coffee and Zane.

Oh, how my heart hurts remembering living without this, the empty days, the lonely nights. I cling to him, our tongues tangling together, our teeth gnashing in our desperate attempt to be closer.

His cock’s hard, and needing to touch, I reach under the thin material of his pajama bottoms.

There’s pre-cum on the tip, and I swirl my fingertips around the head.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll blow in your hand,” he growls against my lips. It’s so sexy, and it turns my insides to jelly. I’ve always been too pragmatic, too careful to be swept away...until I met Zane.

The whole combination, the entire package, and the fact he wants me is like a bow on top of the best present in the world.

“Is that bad?” I tease.

“I’d rather be buried so deep inside you I can’t breathe.”

“I guess that’s an invitation I can’t turn down.”

“I need a condom, Stella. I’ll be right back.”

Our conversation slams into my mind, and I blush, embarrassed. I’d been tired, lonely, desperately wanting something permanent. Babies don’t create a family. Out of anyone, I know that.

I’m grateful he knows it too, and that he took care of me that way.

He comes at me, a foil packet in his hands, and I push aside the time in my apartment. He may have started something that morning, and only time will tell.

“Turn over,” he says, an edge in his voice, and I shiver.

I position myself on my arms and knees, and he tugs the lace panties over my butt and down my legs and tosses them aside.

He lowers his pajama pants just enough to free his cock and rolls the condom down his throbbing erection. His hands shake, trying to stay in control, and I stiffen. He’s going to go at me hard. I’m wet, and his fingers glide into me easily, holding me open.

I tense in anticipation. I’m still not used to sex, and the couple of times Zane and I have made love after going so long without hasn’t loosened me. He pushes into me inch by inch and I pant, but it doesn’t hurt, not like the first time. There was too much anger in him to be gentle, but now he knows, now he understands, and he rubs my clit, helping me relax.

“Jesus, Stella,” he says, his teeth clenched.

“Does it feel good?” I ask, pushing backward, adjusting, reveling in the feel of him filling me to the brim.

“Better than anything.”

I wonder if that includes making love with Nathalie, if she was able to ease some of his pain. Is it selfish to wish he feels this way only with me?

He pulls out and pushes back in, and I can’t think about anything but how he stretches me. The sensation feels so good it steals my breath.

I push my face into a pillow as he thrusts. His fingers don’t stop swirling around my clit, and it’s swollen and quivering under his touch. He wants to give me everything he can, and he delicately explores my ass. I like this part too, and I eagerly wait for him to touch me where no other man has. The first time he touched me there, I didn’t know if I’d like it, but I enjoy him wanting me everywhere. His fingertip nudges into me, and I wiggle.

“More, please,” I beg, and he does, going deeper.

I move my hand between my legs and touch my clit, and letting me do some of the work, he grabs my hip and pounds his cock into me. His finger mimics the motions of his thrusts, and I moan.

It’s all too much. He’s buried to the hilt in both ways, and I come, my pussy greedily hugging his cock. His finger stretches my muscle and the slight bit of pain mingles with the pleasure of my orgasm, the sweet spasms moving through me in wave after wave.

Gently, Zane pulls his finger out of my ass, and gripping both my hips, slams into me. We fall into a frenzied rhythm, and I encourage him to go as deep and as hard as he needs. “More,” I say, whimpering. “More.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, and his balls slap against my skin. “I’m going to come.” He didn’t need to tell me. I can feel his cock thicken and pulse inside me. He shudders, and sounding like an angry bear, he growls deep from his chest. I laugh, full of feminine pride I can make him do that.

He doesn’t pull out right away, instead, he steadies himself on his knees, his fingertips still sinking into my skin. “Jesus Christ, you’re going to kill me.”

I love how this man, always so in control, can turn to putty in my hands. “Are you complaining?”

“I’m definitely not complaining. Did I hurt you?”

“A little, but it felt good, too.”

He pulls out and rubs my butt. “Good. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” His voice quavers.

The vulnerability hidden under his strength is going to shatter me.

He clears his throat. “Let me clean up.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later he steps out of the bathroom, sits on the bed, and holds my cheek in his palm. His skin smells like the hotel soap, a light citrus scent. “I know you’re scared about tonight, but I’ll be there every second. Even if it blows our plans and gives us away, I won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?”

I nod.

“Ash thinks I’m in love with Nathalie, so us going to dinner...we need everyone to think I’m telling you to go to hell and that I never want to see you again. Don’t you dare believe anything I’m going to say to you tonight.”

The way we met at my apartment the day Quinn was shot still hurts and it will be difficult not to take his words to heart, but this has to look real. The paparazzi that follow Zane’s every move will alert Ash as soon as we meet. Truth or Dare loves to play a live feed whenever they can, and I won’t be surprised if Ash watches the mugging and my death as they happen in real time.

“I understand,” I say quietly. “You need to keep Nathalie safe.”

I can’t be selfish. Zane’s protecting more than only me. Nathalie. Zarah. Lucille. Douglas. The thousands of employees who work for Maddox Industries. A man in Zane’s position...I’ll never have him to myself. Ever. If I choose his world, that means sharing.

“Stella . . .” Zane frowns.

“No, I get it. She’s in a tough spot, and we’ll get her out of it. It’s not her fault.”

Raking his fingers through his hair, he says, “I love you, Stella. I know I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life proving it to you. I know that, and I’ll never stop until you believe it. These past five years have taught me that I need you, and I will do whatever I have to do to keep you with me, forever. I’ve been Ash’s friend practically since I was born, and the shit we’ll find when he goes down...” He swallows. “I’ll be guilty by association. Hell, I already am in your eyes, dating Nat.”

He says his nickname for her and my heart sinks.

“I’ll work my ass off to make that up to you, but when it’s all said and done...Fuck. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again. Run off with Quinn and disappear.”

His shoulders hitch with his frantic breathing and fear and self-recrimination shine bright in his eyes.

I reach out and grip his hands. He clutches at me like he’s drowning and there’s no one to save him but me.

“Listen,” I say, and he looks at me. “We both made mistakes. Zarah and I, we should have talked to you together. If you would have seen her bruises, if we wouldn’t have believed Ash’s lies about your dad. He knew we were young and scared and would do whatever he wanted. I love you, and if I let your decisions keep us from moving past this, all I’m doing is letting Ash win again and I’m so tired of letting him win.”

I throw myself into his arms, and he catches me.

Just like I knew he would.

The day crawls by. Mel’s brother, Paulo, arrives, and glancing around the Presidential Suite, he whistles. I like him, the man who’s going to try to mug Zane and shoot me.

The restaurant Zane chose is fancy, on a downtown street corner, all glass allowing the paparazzi a good look at us fighting.

Ash needs to believe without a shadow of a doubt I’m dead. That means when Paulo “shoots” me, I need to fall to the ground in a way that’s believable, and not move once I’m lying there. Paulo will carry a prop gun that will sound exactly like a real handgun, but when he pulls the trigger, I won’t feel a thing. It will be up to me to pretend like he really shot me and fall to the ground. Mel demonstrates how I can stagger and crumple to the sidewalk without hurting myself. “In a real shooting, you have a few seconds before your body realizes what happened and reacts. You can use those few seconds to fall safely.”

I’ll have a fake blood bag taped inside my dress, and when Zane kneels beside my body, he’ll pop the bag to release the fluid. Douglas will be waiting, and he’ll drive us to the hospital. Everything will go so quickly no one will suspect anything.

Zane will have the fake blood on his hands, and he’ll talk to the press outside the hospital. He’ll announce I’m dead, answer a couple of questions, then he’ll go back to the penthouse. Meanwhile, the nurse Mel found to help us will wheel me through the ER to an exam room where I’ll change and put on a wig. Mel’s going to drive a plain sedan, and she’ll drop me off across town where I’ll get into a cab and have it bring me back to the Crowne.

I don’t like the part where I’m alone, but people traveling together draw attention, whereas a woman riding by herself will go unnoticed.

Mel assures us Paulo’s quick enough on his feet to disappear before the police are alerted to the crime and try to arrest him. He, too, will wear a disguise, leaving him free after my death to help us.

That evening, Mel goes over the plan again and again until I want to scream.

“That’s enough,” Zane says, rubbing my shoulder as I tense up during one more walk-through. “I’ll be right there. She’ll be fine.”

Mel blows out a breath. “I know. It’s more for me, though I’ll be at the hospital, too. I don’t completely trust that junkie, but she’s our best shot, excuse the pun, if we want Stella to vanish in the ER. She called me earlier from a payphone. We lucked out, and there’s a blonde runaway Jane Doe in the morgue. She said she can write Stella’s name on the body tag. If this goes well, we may owe her for more than just keeping a secret.”

“If she can work that out, I’ll pay her whatever she wants,” Zane says.

We stop for a break, and Mel and Paulo sit in the corner of Max’s room going over a map of King’s Crossing, puzzling out the route he’ll take to lose the police after he shoots me.

Quinn’s sleeping now and will wait here at the Crowne. I insisted she rest as much as possible. She needs to be strong enough to help us later when we need her.

Denton watched the walk-throughs, Mel teaching me to stagger and fall to the sidewalk. I feel his agitation, but there’s not much for him to do until we start acting out our plan to expose Ash and his father.

Max will stand across the street as part of the paparazzi, and he’ll write an article about the mugging and my death and send it to his editor at the Chronicle.

Zarah loves spending time with him, and they’ve been exploring the hotel, Ingrid following a discreet distance behind. She has more freedom roaming the Crowne’s hallways than she ever had at Quiet Meadows, and the exertion puts a blush on her cheeks.

Zane and I sit on the loveseat in Max’s conference room, the main hub of our operation. He cuddles me to him, my back to his chest, and presses a kiss to my hair. Everyone has felt the shift in our relationship. Even Nathalie, who eyes us with a combination of wistfulness, jealousy, and bitterness.

Our dinner isn’t until ten this evening, and in the Honeymoon Suite, I soak in a long, hot bath. Zane doesn’t join me, and I’m a little disappointed and a lot relieved. We’re in each other’s faces all the time, and it will get worse. I needed a few minutes alone, even if I didn’t want them.

I go over the plan.

There’s nothing that can go wrong, and I trust everyone involved. Paulo’s a nice guy. He has a sharp sense of humor and says he’s a steady shot, not that he needs to be tonight. He’s had extensive training shooting real guns, and he and Mel have worked at their security company together for years. He said acting like a mugger will be fun, and he looks forward to slipping the cops.

The hot water soothes me, the vanilla body wash scenting the air. I get out and rub lotion all over my skin and blow dry my hair. Wearing my robe, I meet Mel in her room. She said she wanted to help me dress, but I don’t know why. I can put on a dress by myself.

She asks me to sit on the counter in the spacious, brightly lit bathroom. A curling iron is heating, and jars and pallets of cosmetics sit near the sink bowl.

“You and Zane, huh?” she asks, curling my hair into waves. It’s almost maternal, and I swallow back tears. I miss Maryanne.

“It’s always been me and Zane,” I say.

“Yeah. I got that. Hey,” she says, fluffing my hair, “I wanted you to dress in here because I want you to wear something extra.”

Frowning, I ask, “What?”

Mel slips out of the bathroom and comes back holding a shiny black tank top. “Bulletproof body armor. It might not be very comfortable in this heat, but they’ve come a long way in design.”

Fingering the material, I ask, “Why do you want me to wear it?”

“Ashton Black has been trying to kill you, and if he follows social media for even a second, which is what we’re hoping he’ll do tonight, he’s going to know exactly where you are at exactly the time you’re there. Let’s not tempt fate, okay? Zane’s paying me big bucks to worry, so I will.”

She adjusts it over my bra. Despite the design, the extra layer in the late summer heat will be irritable at best and downright sweltering at worst. I’ll have to resist pulling at it. It isn’t the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn—as a child I was constantly dressed in clothing that didn’t fit—but I won’t forget I’ll have it on, that’s for sure.

Mel picks up the blood pouch she bought at a Halloween costume store across town. The plastic is flimsy and made to burst upon slight impact. I worry that I’ll break the bag just by moving around, but she tapes it under the tank top, near my heart, and it’s protected under the sturdy material. No sudden movements, and I should be okay. I wiggle my shoulder. “It looks bulgy.”

She pulls a black dress off the hanger and holds it up to me. “Yeah, I figured that would happen. While you were bathing, I ran to a thrift store and bought a few things. Try this. It’s a size bigger than what you normally wear.”

I step into the dress and Mel zips it up. It hides the pouch and tank top, but not well. The black edges peek out from the dress’s gaping neckline, and no one would mistake them for bra straps. I sigh.

“A cardigan would work, but you’d look like a lunatic. It’s almost a hundred degrees out there,” Mel mutters, turning me around, yanking at the material, trying to cover the tank top’s straps but downplay the blood pouch at the same time. “Maybe this will work.” She adjusts a black and pink floral scarf around my neck and ties it in a loose knot. It disguises my shoulders, and no one would ever guess what I’m wearing under it. The thin scarf’s made of polyester, the edges fraying, and it reminds me of the type of clothing I wore before I met Zane.

“That’s perfect.” She nods, pleased.

Zane’s pacing outside Mel’s room and stops wearing a path in the hallway’s carpeting when he sees me. He crushes his mouth to mine, his hand resting on the nape of my neck under my hair. He tears his mouth away. “You look gorgeous.”

I suck in a breath. He didn’t give me a warning, and I need air. “Thanks. Mel did a good job.”

“Don’t mess up the goods,” she says, shoving him away and smoothing my hair back in place. “She’s ready to go.”

My skin prickles. I know I’m safe.

It’s just dinner and a show.

Only, I’ll be the star.

Crap.

Mel leads me down the corridor without giving Zane any more time. It’s probably for the best. I already feel like I could have a panic attack.

“We’ve done all the work, Stella,” she says in the elevator, trying to reassure me. “Just go through the motions.”

“Right. Okay.”

There’s a bus stop a mile from the hotel and Mel drops me off so I don’t have to walk in the heat. I’m supposed to be on the run without resources, and we agreed it would make the most sense if I rode it to the restaurant. Even the cheap cotton dress and scuffed heels Mel bought me supports the story. She truly has thought of everything.

I wish I didn’t feel so nervous. Mel’s last-minute pep talk didn’t do much good.

To keep calm, on the bus I count to one hundred ten times. It stops a couple of blocks away from the restaurant, and thankfully, I don’t have to do it again.

Gripping the handrail, I step off the bus, my heels slipping on the dirty little stairs.

I stand reluctantly on the sidewalk, the doors behind me closing, cutting off the slightly cooler air. The restaurant is up ahead, and right on time, Douglas glides up to the curb.

Zane elegantly slides out of the town car, and the photographers are already waiting, hoping for the perfect shot that will elevate their careers. He poses and allows them to take a few photos, and they love him for the chance. He rarely cooperates, and I want to caution him not to be too accommodating, but he abruptly turns and heads into the building. The photographers groan in frustration.

Until they see me.

Stiffly, I walk down the sidewalk. Maybe I look like I’m not comfortable in the tight heels and the cheap dress or the attention the paparazzi throw at me, and that’s okay. It’s the itchy tape that’s holding the blood bag in place, irritating my skin. In this heat, I want to scratch the skin off my bones.

They snap pictures, and I try to ignore them. I succeed until one asks, “Did you and Sergio Cardello break up? Is that why you’re meeting Zane? Broke, Stella?”

I want to respond, God, I want to respond, but that’s what this whole thing is about and if the photographer, that sleazy man with the bright smile who feeds on others’ misfortunes believes that, then we’re doing our job.

I look at the ground, demure. “I just need a little to get back on my feet.” I stare at my pumps, and the scuff marks fill my eyes with tears. They remind me of the shoes I used to wear in payroll. I’m still straddling between two lives, and still, I don’t fit in with either.

The paparazzo jerk is cruel, and laughing, he flips a quarter at me. It bounces off my collarbone and lands on the concrete by my feet. “Spread your legs on Fischer Boulevard, Stella. You’re a pretty girl. Might make a few bucks. Hell, later I’ll come see you myself. You must have something special if Zane Maddox and Sergio Cardello want what you’ve got.”

I’m tempted to spit in his face, but I can’t. Instead, to his hilarious amusement, I crouch and pick up the quarter, tears running down my face. He’s wheezing with laughter as I let myself into the restaurant. A place I could never afford on my salary in payroll.

The dining room is too cold, and the sweat on my back turns icy.

Zane has chosen to sit in the corner where the floor-to-ceiling windows intersect.

He’s playing for an audience just like I was supposed to be, only, it felt too real to be a performance.

I wave off the hostess who approaches me, and ignoring her scowl, walk to his table alone. Instead of standing and pulling out my chair, he kicks it, and it pitches away from the table a couple of inches. This isn’t that kind of place, and a few of the patrons stare at him, appalled.

I pull the chair out the rest of the way and sit

“I got your message,” he says, his voice flat. “What do you want?”

A server stops at our table. Without asking, he orders me a glass of champagne and a glass of scotch for himself. She nods and walks away, used to being invisible.

Anger flashes in Zane’s eyes, exactly like when we met in my apartment. They’re filled with hate and my own fill with tears again. Is this how he felt when he thought Sergio and I ran away together? How betrayed and devastated he must have been, believing I’d left him for another man so soon after losing his parents. How alone he’d been these past five years with Zarah hidden away at Quiet Meadows.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about.”

He leans away to give the server space to set our drinks on the table. She asks if we want to order a meal, and impatiently, Zane brushes her off.

We won’t be here long enough for that.

“I’m sorry.” Lost in the technicalities of the evening, we didn’t practice a script, and his fury surprises me. I didn’t expect him to sound so real. Like he’s gone back to the old Zane and he’s still Ash’s best friend and despises me.

I reach across the table to touch his hand, but he stops me, squeezing my wrist until I flinch.

“You think I give a shit?” Zane whispers, rage darkening his features. “You think after you’ve spent the last five years fucking Cardello I would ever care about you again? That I would still love you? Now what? You and he had a fight, or he found someone else, and you’re broke? Don’t have a place to go? I heard he’s in some financial trouble. Can’t get him to pay up, huh? So you go back to the next best thing. Well, fuck you,” he says, flinging my arm away. He downs his drink in one swig and slams the glass onto the table. “You’re nothing to me. Less than nothing. The minute you left me was the minute I stopped thinking about you.” Smoothing his tie, he stands and says, “We’re done here.”

I sit, stunned. Consumed by the game. It feels too real, and my body won’t move.

Photographers stand outside the window filming us arguing. I look through the glass. It’s not a conscious decision, letting them get a look at my face. I can’t meet Zane’s eyes a second longer.

He wraps his hand around my upper arm. “Get. Up.”

Zane wrenches me off the chair, his fingers digging into my skin.

I can’t stop the tears that are running down my cheeks. He’s hurting me, and I’m swept up in the pretense, the malice in his eyes. There isn’t compassion or sympathy, not one brief flicker he’s playing, and I try to push back the panic when I think our lovemaking this morning was a lie.

That the promises he made to me were lies.

My senses are overloaded, and the world spins. He drags me out of the restaurant and I stumble in my heels.

We stop on the sidewalk, but he doesn’t loosen his grip.

The sun set, and streetlights begin to blink on, lighting the walkway. Cars clog the narrow avenue. Someone honks, the sharp sound jarring, and I tremble, my nerves strung too tight.

A gallery showing lets out across the street and the artist steps onto the sidewalk. A burst of applause jerks my attention away from Zane.

At ten-thirty at night, King’s Crossing is teeming with life, and pedestrians, dressed like we are for a night on the town, flow around us, looking for the next bar, the next party.

“You’re a fucking bitch.” His voice is loud enough a couple walking past us stops and the man says, “Hey, buddy, that’s no way to talk to a lady.”

“She’s no lady. Mind your own fucking business,” Zane snaps, and the man opens his mouth to defend me until he realizes this is Zane Maddox, one of the richest men in the country, and no one crosses him.

“Come on,” he says to his date, wrapping his arm around her, and they disappear in the stream of people.

A car runs a red light and tires squeal as the oncoming vehicle screeches to a stop. The blood fizzes in my veins. I feel like my skin is too tight, like my body is about to split open. We’ve been on the sidewalk for only a few seconds, but it feels too long.

Zane yanks my arm and I have no choice but to go with him. Paulo hasn’t shown up. That was one thing no one took into consideration. The sidewalk is too busy and Paulo can’t try to mug Zane without getting caught.

We stop at the end of the block. It’s quieter here. The street behind us is dark, full of office buildings closed at this time of the night.

He raises a hand to slap me, and I shrink away. A paparazzo captures him, his hand hovering in the air, but when Zane steps toward him, he scurries away.

“Give me your wallet,” Paulo says, stepping out of the shadows. He’s dressed in black, a baseball cap low over his eyes, and he aims a black handgun at Zane. The metal glints in the streetlight we’re standing under, and it looks dangerous, lethal. Real.

“Fuck off,” Zane says, playing his part so convincingly I can imagine him saying precisely those words if some fool really did attempt to mug him.

“Give me your wallet or the girl gets it.”

“What the fuck?” Zane asks, laughing. “You sound like an idiot. Get lost.”

A large group of people walk in front of us, and their chatter carries to me.

Paulo pulls the trigger.

I hear the click, or maybe I just imagine I do.

The group’s voices fade.

That’s something else we should have practiced. I wasn’t prepared for how loud the gun’s blast would sound, and I stagger backward, my ears ringing.

I know what I have to do.

This is the part where I’m supposed to pretend to stumble and fall, but there’s no need for that.

The pain shooting through my chest is unlike anything I have ever felt before. It hurts more than when I fell on the tracks. More than when Denton tackled me. More than when I laid on the bank of the river catching my breath after almost drowning. More than when I found Maryanne dead in her house. Maybe all those things wrapped up into one.

That’s how much I hurt.

Paulo runs away, his footfalls lost in the blood pounding in my ears and the screams of people nearby.

I wobble in my heels and fall to the ground.

Paulo really shot me, and I’m going to die.

The bright lights of downtown tilt. That’s all I can focus on because pain has consumed every inch of my body and there is nothing else in my world.